


Sweet Surrender

by gin_tonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternative Universe/Fandom Fusion (with Pushing Daisies), Community: snarry_games, M/M, Minor Character Death, Prompts: Eat Cake &Consequences, Snarry Games 2009, Team Snitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2010-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/gin_tonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than a year has passed since Harry left the Wizarding world. Now he's known as the Pie Maker, but his quiet life is about to be disrupted by an unexpected visitor and a murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Surrender

Harry carefully cut the pie in front of him into eight equal pieces. He could feel the warmth radiating from it, even though he was not actually touching it, and licked his lips at its exquisite smell. Cherries and a tiny hint of cinnamon. Proudly, he placed the pie on the counter that separated the bakery from the actual café and looked around the room.  
This was the Pie Hole, his realm, his refuge, and he was the Pie Maker.  
At least that was what the people here had called him ever since he had opened the café about nine months ago, in lieu of his name, which no-one but his one employee Olive bothered to remember. Finally he had achieved what he had dreamt of all his life: anonymity.

It had all started more than a year ago when Harry had left the Wizarding world for good. It had been right after the battle, right after realising that so much of what had happened had been his fault. After realising that Snape – Harry shook his head. No, he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't think of that again. He had left his old life, had started a new one. Without magic, without madmen who tried to kill him. So what if it was mediocre? So what if he hadn't felt truly happy for a long time now? Eventually the happiness would come back. And if it didn't he could live with simple contentment. Because he was content here more so than he had been anywhere else.   
More than a year ago, Harry had left Hogwarts in the middle of the night. He had got all his money from Gringotts (The goblins had threatened to kill him, at first, but once he had stated that he wanted to leave the Wizarding world they had been very keen on helping him achieve that goal), exchanged everything down to the last Knut to pound and pence, and had found himself outside the Leaky Cauldron quicker than he'd expected.  
The first night, he had slept in-between bushes in a park. The air had been warm and it had been a lot better than some nights he had spent in the cold in the tent with Hermione. Then he'd taken a bed in a Youth Hostel until he had found a flat to live in and had got a job, because he had figured that his money wouldn't last forever.  
Working as a barista in a coffee shop hadn't been exactly what he had been looking for in a job, but there was barely anything else that he could do without any Muggle qualifications. So he had made coffee for other people, had asked 'Would you like cream with that?' and had smiled (Oh Merlin, how much he had smiled! His mouth was still smarting from it, especially since the corners of his mouth had been more in the mood for hanging down to his knees than go up.).  And then, about five months after becoming a wizard incognito, Harry had seen that a café around the corner from where he lived was being sold. It wasn't big, wasn't exactly modern, but standing in front of it and imagining what he could do with it, Harry had known that _this_ was what he had been looking for.  He loved baking pies and pastries of all varieties. It was the only proper thing that Aunt Petunia had ever taught him to do. Well, of course she had only shown him so he could be the one to bake pies for guests instead of her, before he vanished into his cupboard, but still. He had even, once or twice, got praise for his pies. Making pies had always had soothing effect on him and even Uncle Vernon's yells hadn't sounded as harsh during these brief moments of escape. And especially when he had just left his old life behind, baking had been his only hobby and the only way to pass the time in the evening (well, apart from watching television, which he'd been looking forward to getting the chance to do, but had soon realized wasn't all it was cracked up to be these days) – and he was sure that he could turn this talent into a job.  
And so he had scraped all his money together and had bought the café, furnished it and redecorated, adding on impulse the small roof in front of the café that looked like a pie-crust. And a short time after that his Pie Hole had opened.  


******

It was already late in the evening and Harry had sent Olive home. He liked working late, because it gave him something to do. The three regular guests – a tall, dark man who had a penchant for peach-pies and two sisters who didn't like strangers, but liked Harry's pie – had already left as well and Harry was getting ready to close the café, when the tiny golden bell over the door rang to signal another late-night guest.

A dark figure entered the café, his coat – which looked too close to a wizard's robe for comfort – dripping from the rain. Harry couldn't see the man's face – it had to be a man, the figure, the shoulders, everything pointed to male – as the hood obstructed it and he couldn't help but feel uneasy. His hand went to his hip where he kept his wand hidden. The man came closer, his steps heavy on the café's bright floor. Harry swallowed nervously, then told himself that this was ridiculous. The threat of Voldemort was gone long now and no wizard – Death Eater or anyone else – had ever laid foot on his doorstep. This was just another customer, no matter how weird he looked.

'Would you like coffee?' Harry forced himself to say and held up the pot of coffee that he had made a while ago. Any customer coming this late would have to make do with the not-so-fresh coffee that was left over.

The man pushed his hood back, saying 'Just tea.' Harry recognized the voice – the slightly smoky drawl, the seriousness in every syllable, spiced with occasional scorn – before he even noticed the face. The pot of coffee crashed onto the floor.

Harry didn't move. How could that be…? 'You,' he managed to gasp, not able to tear his eyes away from Snape's face. He looked like the night Harry had left the Wizarding world. Maybe healthier, but still the same. So... so... Snape.

Snape sat down at the counter, taking off his coat and draping it over a neighbouring stool all the while. He was wearing Muggle clothes underneath, but Harry didn't notice them at all.

It had been hours before he had left Hogwarts for good when he had been kneeling in front of Snape. The blood from his neck had already dried on the floor and Snape hadn't been Snape anymore, just a body. A corpse, a shell, unmoving. Harry remembered how he had stared down at him, crying, wishing that he had had the chance to tell the man how unbelievably grateful he was. Without Snape he would have died. Hell, all of them would have died. Snape had helped him every step of the way. The memories that he had seen before giving himself up to Voldemort had proved it, but he had never had the chance to actually tell the man.

He had stared down at his hands, tears still streaming down his face. Years ago Harry had noticed that he had a gift – if one wanted to call it that. He could bring dead things back to life when he touched them. The first time it had happened by accident. He had found a kitten that had been run over by a car, and not knowing how to cope with death, the seven-year old Harry had touched the kitten, only to see it jump up and run away just a moment later. He had run after the kitten, wanting to make it his friend, but the kitten had run fast. He had found it sitting under a tree and licking its paw.

Unbeknownst to Harry, as he would only find out about the time clause that came with his gift later, a minute had passed and exactly to the second a bird had fallen out of the tree, dead. Because, so Harry had learned later, if he kept something alive for longer than a minute someone or something else in the vicinity had to pay the price in order to keep the world in balance. The kitten had been curious and had tried to get to the little feathered body, but Harry had reached out and touched her. To Harry's horror the kitten had died instantly. This was because if Harry touched again what he had once brought back to life it would die again, no matter that some other being had already given its life in exchange. He would have railed against the injustice, if he hadn't already had ample proof in his own experience that life just wasn't fair.

Kneeling in Snape's blood Harry had remembered his ability. He had never tried to use it on a human being. His parents had been dead too long and Sirius hadn't left a body. Cedric, Fred, Remus and Tonks and all the others – he couldn't risk killing one of his other friends. Too many people had been around, too many liabilities. But here, with no-one around but himself … Maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, he would be able to bring Snape back. He only needed a minute with him. He needed to tell Snape what he felt. Maybe Snape wouldn't forgive him, but at least that way Harry would feel like he had done everything he could for the man. Maybe then he could let Snape rest in peace. Maybe then he would stop obsessing over the man, as he had done ever since he had found out that Snape had been _his_ Half-Blood Prince.

Harry had checked the watch he had got from Mrs Weasley for his birthday, now with even more scratches than before, had extended his trembling hand slowly, then, had closed his eyes, concentrating as hard as he could and reached out further. The skin that his finger had touched had been cold as ice at first, but only a moment later he had felt the warmth sparking in Snape again.

Harry had opened his eyes at just the moment Snape that sat up, a disoriented look on his face. He had only been able to gasp and stare at Snape, had wanted to do nothing but, until he had remembered that he only had less than a minute left to tell Snape everything.

'You're ... I ... Merlin,' Harry had stammered and had got Snape's attention with that.

'Potter?'

'I ... I am so, so sorry -'

'Are you crying?!'

'I should have realised -'

'Stop blubbering for a minute! What has happened? The Dark Lord's snake – Merlin, Potter! Don't tell me you didn't manage to look at my memories,' Snape had groaned.

Harry had blinked. Thirty-five seconds left. 'What? Yes, yes, I did, but -'

'What about the Dark Lord? You have to go and face him!'

Harry had shaken his head. 'He's already dead. But – listen – I need to -'

'Didn't I tell you to stop? Now help me up! – Wait, what do you mean he's dead?!' Snape had struggled to get on his feet, actually reaching out for Harry once, but Harry had evaded his grasp. He wasn't ready yet to let Snape go. Twenty-five seconds. 'You were supposed to be dead.'

'I was. Listen, I'm so thankful -'

'Potter, I don't give a damn what you're thankful for. I seem to have just survived a snake bite. The poison is probably still circulating in my body. You have to get me to the infirmary.' Snape had looked for his wand while Harry had felt the seconds ticking by. There hadn't been much time left, but every time Harry tried to say something Snape had interrupted him. And when there had only been ten seconds left Harry had thought, 'Why not let Snape live?'. They were in the Shack and there was no-one around. Everyone else was in the castle and there was only Harry. And maybe that had been why Harry had had survived that far. Maybe, he had thought, it was his destiny to exchange his life for Snape's.

So Harry had let Snape rant and had closed his eyes, expecting death. Going from this world wouldn't be that bad, he had thought. He'd just drop dead, and on the other side there would be his parents and Remus and Sirius and Fred and Tonks and Dumbledore waiting for him. It was okay.

'Potter!' Snape's yell had torn Harry from his musings and then Harry had realised he hadn't died. Something bad had happened; but it was too late now..

'Potter!' the same yell tore him from his memories this time. Snape was snapping his fingers in front of Harry's face, his face betraying his impatience. 'I said I want tea.'

'Of course,' Harry mumbled and grabbed the tea-pot to pour a cup for Snape, as if in trance. Then, he pushed the menu towards him and bent down to start cleaning up the mess that the dropped coffee-pot had left.

The tea had been as old as the coffee, but if Snape noticed that and Harry was sure he did, he didn't comment on it. Which made the visit even stranger.

'Do you want a piece of pie?' Harry asked while still crouching behind the counter.

He heard Snape sniff and move the menu around. 'You don't have any bramble pie?'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

Snape sniffed again. 'Blueberry, then.'

'With vanilla ice-cream or whipped cream?'

'Neither.'

Harry got up and threw the porcelain shards and wet paper towels into the bin; then, after washing his hands, he carefully put a piece of pie onto a plate and handed it to Snape. He turned away so he wouldn't have to look at how Snape slowly pushed the pie into his mouth, how his lips closed around the fork.

 

That night Harry had helped Snape to get to the hospital wing, making sure not to allow his hands to touch Snape's flesh along the way. Madam Pomfrey had made a quick affair of ushering Snape into a transfigured bed and giving him his medicine – miraculously he didn't need any anti-toxins, but rather a heavy dose of Dreamless Sleep. And Harry had stood there, in the middle of beds full of the wounded and the dying, remembering how many people had died for him. He had looked at Snape, had thought about someone else dying instead of him, and hadn't felt sorry. Later that night they had found Umbridge's corpse near the Shack. Her death had been written off as a casualty of war and no-one had bothered to look into it. And even knowing who had died for Snape, who had died because of him, hadn't made Harry feel sorry. Because Snape had been alive.

It was then that Harry had realised how much Snape meant to him. Had realised that he would never be able to be close to Snape, to touch him, no matter whether Snape wanted it or not. And that he, the Chosen One, was nothing but a cold-blooded murderer, because he hadn't felt any remorse for the death that he had caused.

He had left Hogwarts within the hour, leaving only a letter that stated that he was going on his own free will and that his friends shouldn't look for him. He didn't say goodbye, and only turned around once, seeing death and destruction before Apparating away.

 

Finally Harry exhaled deeply and tried to clear his head of these thoughts. Gone and in the past – hadn't he said that? And he looked at Snape – the problem at hand – sitting in front of him at the counter, quietly eating his blueberry pie, and he could only think about one thing -

'What do you want?'

Snape looked up and raised an eyebrow. 'Nice to see you too, Potter.'

'That's Miller.'

'What is?'

'My new name. I'm called Harry Miller here.'

'How plebeian,' Snape sniffed and ate the last bite of the pie. 'But then again "Potter" isn't exactly sophisticated either.'

Harry rubbed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. That this man couldn't even manage to sit there for a couple of minutes without insulting him... 'Do I have to repeat myself?'

'By all means, if you desire to do so.'

'What do you want? Why are you here?'

Snape slowly crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking at him like he was still a schoolboy and had just asked a very, very stupid question. 'I want answers.'

'About what?'

He got another one of these looks. Why couldn't Snape wear a normal expression for once? 'Despite whatever you might think of me, _Potter_ -'

'_Miller_!'

'- I am definitely not an imbecile. I don't know why you thought you'd get away without any explanations, but -'

'About what?!' Harry cried, exasperated. More than one year later, Snape still hadn't learned how to say things straight! Insulting yes, complicated definitely, but never did that man manage to say what he wanted with less than a bazillion words.

'About how you _brought me back to life_!' Snape snapped and slammed his cup so hard onto the counter that Harry thought it might break. 'I might have been in a delirium back then and incapable of asking the necessary questions, but I have had plenty of time to piece it all together since then.'

Harry froze. How was that possible? He hadn't told anyone about his ability. Had never used it in front of another person, at least not to his knowledge. Who had seen him? What had they said? Oh Merlin, were they looking for him because of Umbridge's death now?

'I know you have revived me, and I know that when you brought me to Madam Pomfrey, every trace of the bloody snake's toxin was gone, and there was also no trace of any blood-loss. I checked the spells that you would have needed to perform, Potter -'

'Miller!'

'Would you stop interrupting me?!' Snape's yell was loud enough to make a couple that passed the Pie Hole look at them with interest. But as no-one was being killed yet, they walked on. 'I did the research. I found the spells that you would have needed to revive me – and even if you had _managed_ to perform any of these, you would have needed a combination of potions to heal my wounds that you had no access to, because I'm the only one who is able to make them, and I had none in store. So I'm asking you: How did you do it?'

Harry shrugged and turned away. He couldn't tell Snape. Snape would figure out every last detail, even if he only said one little thing. And then he would despise him, because he would know what Harry felt for him, how he had been too weak to let him die, how he had risked another person's life. No. He couldn't tell Snape.

'Well?'

'You should leave.'

'Why you -'

'I won't tell you. Can't you be happy that you're alive?'

'I want to know, Potter. I need to.'

Harry didn't even bother correcting the name again, just shook his head. 'I can tell you that I revived you, but that's all. Go back to where you came from.' _So I don't have to see you any more and be reminded of what I can never have_.

Snape just snorted and said: 'I will not. I will stay here as long as it takes to get the answers that I want.'

'Fine,' Harry sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with Snape. Maybe if he told him often enough that he wouldn't get any information from Harry he would leave. Though Harry didn't really believe that. 'Go to your hotel then, but leave me in peace.'

'I don't have a hotel.'

'There's one around the corner. They should have vacant rooms.'

'Really,' Snape scoffed. 'You think that you'll get rid of me this easily? Besides, I don't have any Muggle money so I should be unable to get a room in any case.'

Harry was about to tell Snape to find a nice spot on the street then. To go somewhere, _anywhere_, and just leave him alone. Instead, his mouth took over: 'You can sleep at my place.' Bugger.

******

Harry was a bit nervous when he unlocked the door to his flat. Snape followed him inside, probably looking around while Harry threw his keys onto the table and his jacket over the armchair, like he did every night. Probably taking in the mismatched furniture that he had got from second hand shops and cheap furniture stores, the lack of many books, the general ordinariness of the whole bloody place.

Snape's sniff only confirmed Harry's suspicions. 'You can leave if you don't like it.'

'It's very ... you.'

Harry didn't know what that meant and just ignored it. He was neither in the shape nor the mood to start deciphering Snape's words. All he wanted was to go to bed and forget that any of the last couple of hours had happened.

'I'll take the bedroom,' Snape announced then.

'What?! No way!' Harry snapped. 'You're the guest -'

'And guests should be treated well.'

'Guests should know how to behave and be thankful for whatever they are given! You can take the sofa!' The nerve of that man...

Snape sneered at him and whipped out his wand, pointing it at Harry's shabby but comfortable sofa.

'Oh no, you won't!' Harry stepped in front of his sofa, his arms crossed and a thunderous expression on his face. 'I don't use magic, so while you're staying in my flat, neither will you. This,' Harry gestured around wildly. 'is a magic-free zone.'

'Do I look like a Muggle?' Snape growled, making Harry cross his arms.

'No, but you look like someone who doesn't want to be kicked out.' He ignored Snape's amused snort at that. 'My sofa stays a sofa.' When Snape didn't make any more attempts to transfigure Harry's sofa, Harry stepped aside and pointed towards a door further down the small hall. 'The bathroom is there. I'm going first.'

******

Lying in bed, Harry stared at the wall that separated him from Snape. Never in a million years had he thought he would see the man again. He had tried not to think of him too much, and had kept busy enough for that to work, even though he had dreamt of Snape quite regularly. And now Snape was here, and Harry couldn't help but feel this uneasy tingling in his tummy – the one that felt like his chest monster had come back, only a thousand times magnified. The one that made him reach out and touch the wall, hoping he would stop _longing_.

It didn't help. To have Snape this near and to know that he would never get what he wanted. Never touch him, feel his skin... Harry closed his eyes and tried to recall what it had been like. He had touched Snape only for the blink of an eye, had felt life rushing back into the man. His skin, he remembered, had been dry, but not too rough. There had been some stubble on his cheek, but underneath the skin had been soft. He tried remembering what Snape had looked like that close. His strong cheekbones... his nose, of course...

He fell asleep with Snape on his mind.

******

'I told you that I will not tell you what happened!' Harry snapped as he walked to the café, Snape dogging his footsteps. He had told Snape a thousand times now. Snape had asked before breakfast, after breakfast, before and after the shower, and again and again. And he still wouldn't give up.

'I'm not giving up on this, Potter, and you know it.'

Harry stopped and whirled around to face Snape, all the while making sure to not come too close. 'Now listen, I already told you -'

'Yes, yes, I heard. I don't care, though.'

Harry closed his eyes. Maybe if he told Snape a part if the truth he'd leave. He couldn't stand this! 'Okay. You were lying there and you were dead. Then, I touched you and you, were alive again, all right?'

'No, that's not alright! I want to know exactly what happened! What did you do before you touched me? What spell did you use? Or did you use the Stone?'

Harry groaned in frustration. 'No! You're not listening! I _touched_ you! My touch was what made you come back to life!'

Snape opened his mouth probably to call Harry a liar or an idiot, but before he could even get out a single syllable, someone with an American accent said: 'I think we should talk, Mr Miller.'

Out of an alley stepped one of Harry's regular customers – it was the tall, dark man. He towered over even Snape and made Harry feel like a dwarf. The man flashed Harry and Snape a toothy, pearl-white grin. 'Emerson Cod, private investigator. I specialist in finding the missing and catching murderers, preferably of victims with rich families or friends.'

Harry and Snape just stared at Cod, their expressions stony.

'Just so you know, I heard every word you said. And I have a business proposition to make, Mr Miller.' Harry said nothing, just waited for the eyebrow-raising Cod to continue. 'I have a case to solve – the parents of an advertising executive will pay a high sum of money to the person who finds out who killed their son, Jacques. My problem: There are no real suspects. The police say that every one of them has an alibi. This is where you come into play: I want you to bring that corpse back to life.'

Snape cleared his throat, causing Cod to look at him like he was just now noticing him. 'And how much, Mr Cod, would you pay Mr Po – Miller here for his ... service?' Cod didn't seem to be pleased with that. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something very rude, but closed it with a snap as he noticed that Snape had his hand in his coat pocket. Harry realised Cod thought Snape had a gun that he was pointing at the investigator.   
'No!' he hissed forcefully. Snape just lowered his hidden wand ever so slightly.

Cod relaxed visibly. 'I'll have you know that I didn't eavesdrop on you by accident. Sure, a certain amount of chance was involved, but I had long suspected that something funny was up with you, Miller. I wrote down everything I found out about you and put everything into a locker in a bank in this city, the key to which will be sent to a colleague of mine should I turn up dead – or should anything unexpected happen to me.' Cod seemed triumphant.

'Well, Cod," Snape drawled nastily, 'just so you are aware what I can do in order to calculate your next steps: I have the means to make you destroy your credibility in this city. I can make everyone believe that you're nothing but a charlatan, an incompetent one at that, and no-one will ever hire you again,' threatened Snape, his expression as dangerous as his tone.

Harry saw Cod swallowing and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Snape's snark could, Harry thought, be a really good thing, if it wasn't directed at him. Cod might have been intimidating to most people, and while Harry could certainly see why, he wasn't the least bit scared of the man. Maybe it was because Cod was only a Muggle and Harry a wizard, who could, if necessary, defend himself. Maybe it was because the very wand that rested hidden against Harry's hip had led to the end of the maddest, most dangerous wizard of their age. Maybe it was only because Snape was with him at the moment.

'I will not be diverted on this, Mr -'

'Snape.'

Cod inclined his head. 'I think we both hold some leverage here, but I must insist on Mr Miller's involvement in this case.'

'With you giving us nothing but the promise not to tattle-tale on us once the deal is done? No, thank you.'

Harry blinked. Had Snape just used the word 'us'? What did that mean? He had never included Harry in anything. Even in school he had always said 'the class and Mr Potter' or something along those lines, as if Harry had _wanted_ to have special status of any kind. And now it was 'us'?

'Not very trusting, I see.' Cod pursed his lips. 'How about I give you five percent of the money that I earn from this case?'

Snape scoffed. 'Five? Don't be ridiculous. I suggest you give us fifty percent of it, as Miller here will be doing most of your work for you, speaking to the victim and finding out the murderer.'

Now it was Cod's turn to frown and huff, but Harry didn't hear Cod's next offer, as his mind was still stuck on the fact that Snape had not only just agreed that Harry would help him, but had also – using the word 'us' again, started bargaining for their share of the money.

'Wait, what?' Harry finally exploded.

'He said thirty-five percent, _Miller_,' Snape drawled. 'And I'm very much inclined to take that offer. Mr Cod, you have your deal.'

'But – Hey! You can't just decide for me! I have to do the work, dammit! Shouldn't I get a say in this?'

Cod and Snape looked at each other, then at Harry. 'No,' they said in unison and shook hands to finalise the deal.

 

******

The facts were these: Jacques McLachlan, thirty-five years, ten months, fourteen days, twenty-two minutes and five seconds old, was the son of a Scottish investor and a French opera singer. He had owned and worked for a company called Fancy French Advertisements. The business had been going well for Jacques – at least until he had been discovered with his face stuck in a large and very old television. Apparently someone had sneaked up on him and rammed his head straight into the television, causing head trauma and the electric shock resulting from the destruction of the television to kill him instantly.

******

Cod leant back in his seat and slowly sipped on his coffee. He was sitting next to Harry at one of the Pie Hole's tables, understandably preferring that alternative to sitting next to Snape. 'Now you know the facts. Any questions?'

Harry just stared at the piece of pie that was sitting in front of him. How exactly had he been drawn into this? He had been walking towards the café with Snape and – yes, of course. Snape. If Snape hadn't been there then Cod would have never heard what they had argued about. He would never have known for sure what Harry could do and Harry would have been able to continue living his nice, peaceful life. It all came down to Snape, the bloody bastard.

'Well, then I'd suggest we leave as soon as everybody is done with their pie,' Cod suggested and waved Olive over, who had hovered near their table ever since they had arrived, her ears pricked to a point where Harry was sure she would soon start saying how 'fascinating' everything was and how Harry was behaving 'illogically'. Harry shook himself. Damn Muggle television!

******

Harry found himself being carted off into Cod's Cadillac (how could someone actually drive a huge car like this in this city? Finding a parking space for that monster must be horrid.). He might have nodded off for a second there in the car, but when they came to a stop Harry jerked up and opened his eyes. Snape was being slightly disgruntled, but fell silent as soon as they laid eyes on the mortuary.

'You must be joking,' Harry breathed, still staring. The building of the morgue rather looked like someone had confused it with a huge candy-cane – it was painted in red and white stripes. 'Talk about inappropriate.'

Cod just shrugged and seemed generally unimpressed. 'This city has always had a strange sense of humour. Now remember: The two of you are forensic experts – CSI or something – and not such weird -' Cod stopped short when he noticed Snape's dark look. 'Not someone who can revive people by touch and his ... whatever the hell you are, Snape.'

'I am here to make sure that you are not going to use Mr Miller for anything untoward. And to ensure that you keep to our deal, 'Snape huffed. Harry couldn't hold back a slight grin. That nearly sounded like Snape cared about him.

Then he turned towards the morgue again and his smile vanished. He didn't want to go in there. After leaving Hogwarts he'd thought he would never have to see another dead body again. He had seen enough of those to last a life-time. He didn't want to walk into a cold room full of dead people. Nor did he want to revive one, only to have to kill him again.

'Let's go in,' Cod said, sounding too excited for comfort.

******

Getting past the pathologist was not as complicated as Harry had anticipated. He had hoped that there would be a lot of red tape, that Cod would have to argue and fight, and that he himself would have more time to prepare for this. Instead, Cod had ushered him past the pathologist who had just nodded at Cod, before asking a brief question as to their reason for coming here, and then Harry had been pushed into the morgue itself.

It was cold in there, and Harry shivered, though he wasn't quite sure if it had something to do with the temperature. Jacques McLachlan's body, covered by only a thin sheet, was lying on the steel table in front of them. Harry swallowed hard. He couldn't shake off the thought that this could have been Snape. Snape wouldn't have been lying on a cold steel table, but he could have been just as dead. Just as unmoving. The thought made Harry's insides twist uncomfortably. He wanted to turn around and look at Snape, make sure that he was alright, but he knew that looking at him in this environment would only make the image of a dead Snape stronger.

'Well? Go over there and do you thing.' Cod prodded Harry's back with one of his big fingers and Harry stumbled towards the corpse of McLachlan. Jacques. He was about to touch the man's dead body and send him back to the realm of the dead only a minute later, that definitely qualified for the use of a first name.

Shaking Harry lifted the sheets that covered up Jacques's body – and promptly jumped backwards. Still impaled in Jacques's face were the glittering shards of the television; he looked like a weirdly distorted disco ball.

'Go on Harry, you can do this,' Harry mumbled to himself. He had to get this over with so he could finally leave this awful place. He just hoped he was doing the right thing.  
   
Unlike with Snape Harry didn't hesitate much after deciding that he would do it. He closed his eyes and concentrated, then touched Jacques's arm briefly. Immediately Jacques McLachlan jerked into an upright position and looked around as if slightly confused. Which was understandable,considering that millions of shards of glass were stuck in his head and that the last thing Jacques remembered was being in his home, preparing the TV for a showing of his newest advertisement.

Jacques noticed Harry. 'Oh, hallo! Where are you and who am I?' Harry blinked and Jacques cleared his throat. 'Who are you and where am I?' he corrected himself.

Harry swallowed, thinking of how to explain exactly what was going on here. Fifty-five seconds. 'I -'

'You are in the morgue. You are dead and we're looking for your murderer,' Snape said briskly, giving Harry a look that told him to definitely not waste any time with mindless chit-chat.

'I ... what?' Jacques seemed thoroughly out of sorts now.

'Do you know who killed you?' Snape asked again, folding his arms in front of his chest.

'I ... what?' Jacques shook himself, causing the shards in his face to reflect the neon light in a way that made Harry cringe. Then Jacques seemed to get his act together – at least a bit – and said: 'I don't know. Last thing I remember was hearing someone, but my back was towards them. Then, I was pushed ...'

Thirty-five seconds.

'And you don't know who that might've been?' Harry asked.

'No.' Jacques frowned. The shard stuck in his eyebrow gave the whole thing a very freakish effect. 'Well. When I heard the steps behind me I thought it was Simon, my partner, or Patricia, but that was only because I expected them.' Jacques looked at them. 'You don't think it was either of them, do you?'

Harry looked at his watch nervously. Twenty seconds.

'Was there anyone you were having trouble with? People who didn't like you, that wished ill?' Harry asked hurriedly.

Jacques shook his head. 'No, everyone likes me.'

Snape snorted. 'Yes, of course. And I'm a pink hippopotamus. Everyone is hated by someone, without exceptions. And I doubt that someone as annoying as you was not despised by at least one person. In fact, I'm sure we can put this whole suspicion into a plural form. They probably queued up to get rid of you.'

The three others stared speechlessly at Snape. And again Harry was surprised at how mean Snape could be. Telling a murder victim that everyone had hated him in his life surely came in the top ten list of ways to be an unfriendly bastard.

Ten seconds.

Jacques swallowed and swung his legs over the edge of the steel table. Five seconds. 'I'm coming with you.'

Two seconds. Harry quickly extended his hand and Jacques fell back onto the table, reverting back to his former state of being dead. 'No, you're not,' Harry mumbled, covering Jacques up again and turning around. Cod and Snape were both staring at him with a mixture of surprise and anger.

'Why did you do that?' Cod asked.

Harry cleared his throat. 'One minute was over.'

'So?' Cod seemed to be thoroughly pissed off, but that was nothing that Harry could change now.

'I can only keep them alive for one minute,' Harry explained, but that didn't really help matters. Cod just pointed at Snape and asked: 'And what is this with him? You said you revived him as well and he sure as hell has been alive for longer than a minute already.'

'More than a year,' Snape added, sounding just as confused. And maybe the slightest bit suspicious.

Harry shook his head and walked towards the exit. 'I know,' was all that he said on that matter. He couldn't tell Snape what he had done. And if that meant angering Cod and Snape as well, then it had to be that way. He would not give away his secrets.

 

Harry took his seat in the back of the car and waited till the others had sat down as well. 'You can drop us off at the Pie Hole.'

Cod snorted. 'I don't think so. You'll come with me to McLachlan's parents and help question them.'

'What?' Harry squeaked. He hadn't signed up to play detective! Hell, he hadn't signed up for any of this!

'That was not the deal,' Snape said, his expression thunderous. 'Miller here was supposed to revive McLachlan, which he did.'

'Yes, well, but that didn't help at all now, did it?' Cod turned the key and waited till the motor was rumbling darkly, before starting to drive. The direction he turned in was most definitely not the way to the café.

'It's not my fault that Jacques didn't know shit! I did what we agreed on!' Harry protested. Oh how he hated bastards like Cod, who tried to run his life. That was another thing he had been so sure he'd leave behind in the Wizarding World. But of course – of course! – one of that kind just had to find him and try to ruin his life. Harry shook his fist at his fate. Metaphorically, of course. He'd have looked a little strange if he'd done it physically, and Snape and Cod already seemed to think him pretty weird.

'We agreed that you would do the lion's share of work identifying the murderer, actually, and that is what you will do. Not that I plan letting you do any investigating on your own – I want this to be done properly and I doubt a pie maker would be able to. No matter how sinister looking his personal bodyguard,' he glanced at Snape, whose wand-hand twitched dangerously, 'or whatever you call yourself, is. No, but you will make yourself useful. Both of you.'

Harry looked at Snape, hoping that he would say anything against that, but Snape stayed silent. In fact, Harry thought he might even look a bit like he was enjoying himself. Bastard.

******

McLachlan's parents lived in a big building that demonstrated clearly that they belonged to the wealthier percentage of the city's community. They were greeted by Mrs McLachlan, who looked tired and tearful, but nodded and let them come in when they stated what the reason for their visit was. Mr McLachlan was sitting in the living room, reading the paper. When Harry and the others entered he looked up briefly, then continued reading until they had sat down.

'They say they are investigating poor Jacques's death,' Mrs McLachlan said as she took her place next to her husband. She poured everyone a glass of what looked like home-made lemonade – one sip told Harry that either that woman liked sour things a lot or that she had never made lemonade before. Snape, though, seemed to enjoy the drink, never mind that he had enjoyed Harry's sweet pie the day before.

Mr McLachlan regarded the three of them with a suspicious look. 'Want the reward for catching his murderer, eh?'

Cod inclined his head. 'Naturally, Sir. But we also want justice to be served.'

Harry could not remember ever having heard Cod use the word justice. Money, certainly. But justice? And somehow Harry doubted very much that the use of it was more than a show for Jacques's parents.

The father grunted nevertheless and allowed them to ask whatever questions they felt were needed to be asked.

Cod started straight away: 'I have to ask this first, even though I'm sure it is unnecessary, but: Where were you when your son died?'

Mrs McLachlan sniffed audibly and took the old-fashioned handkerchief that her husband offered to her. 'We were here, together, getting ready for Jacques's dinner invitation,' he told them.

'Jacques always invited us for dinner when 'e wanted to show us one of 'is new commercials,' Mrs McLachlan added, her slight French accent shining through.

''e was very excited about his new project.'

Harry noted that the expression of the father had darkened slightly and frowned. 'Something wrong, Mr McLachlan?' he asked, but Mr McLachlan only shook his head, saying nothing.

'Who else was invited to this dinner?' Cod asked, making notes in a little notebook that looked like it had known better days, and they'd been a long time ago.

'Only us, Jacques's girlfriend and 'is partner Simon.' Mrs McLachlan took a sip of the lemonade. She didn't seem to notice the sour taste.

Cod nodded. 'Did anyone else know about the project he was working on?'

'Wait a moment,_what_ project was he working on exactly?' Snape interrupted. Harry looked at the mother who looked slightly uncomfortable at the question. She looked away, just as her husband did, though not seeming as angry as he obviously was.

'You should talk to Simon about that. 'E and Jacques usually keep – kept everything to themselves until it was finished.'

'But you knew about this project before he had the chance to show you the advertisement, isn't that correct?' Cod now put the notebook away. Apparently they had come to the end of their inquisition here, though Harry didn't have the feeling that they had learned very much.

'Yes, we did.' It was the father who spoke this time. 'But like my wife said, you should talk to Simon about that. He is more ... familiar with the subject than we are.' Cod nodded conceding.   
'I take it that those were all the questions that you had?'

******

Cod did drive to the Pie Hole this time, but instead of just dropping Harry and Snape off he entered the café with them and slid into a booth again, gesturing the other two to do the same. Olive was there immediately, probably neglecting some customer to join them.

'Harry! There you are! And here I was thinking that you had forgotten all about me!' Olive seemed to be slightly put out, but Harry couldn't quite bring himself to care.

'One could hardly blame him for trying,' Snape sneered, grabbing one of the menus that Olive was holding.

Olive, ignoring him, continued: 'Where have you been anyway? We need more Apples Pies – I don't fancy having to tell the guests that their favourite pie is off for the day.'

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. Being the Pie Maker and playing detective wasn't exactly going well together it seemed. 'Don't you worry about that, Olive. That's my job. And I was helping out Mr Cod here.'

Cod gave Olive an absolute fake smile, which only made Olive purse her lips. 'Aren't you the muck-ragger who calls himself a private investigator? Nosy Parker is what I'd call you.'

'Olive -' Harry groaned.

'What does the Pie Maker have to do with an investigator anyway? Last thing I heard, pies weren't exactly a common tool to solve crime.' Olive put her hands on her hips and started tapping her foot in the manner that always gave Harry a headache.

'I could also ask why a waitress is impertinent enough to pester her employer instead of doing what she is being paid to do?' Snape drawled, raising an eyebrow at her and bestowing his best you-are-an-incompetent-fool look upon her. Olive didn't seem at all impressed and left in a huff.

'Snape, really -' Harry began, but was silenced by a look from Snape. Snape should feel comforted that this worked on _him_ at least, Harry thought, resting his aching head on the table.

'So,' Cod began and the enthusiasm in his voice didn't make things any better for Harry, 'Let's review what we have.'

'Nothing?' Harry mumbled against the table surface and was promptly ignored.

'We have the parents, the girlfriend and the partner and a project that didn't seem to have too many fans -' Cod started counting and held up two fingers.

'Which is nothing,' Harry mumbled again. Suddenly a cup of coffee appeared next to his head, placed with so much force onto the table that some splashed over the rim of the cup and nearly landed in Harry's face. 'Gah!'

Snape took his tea – at least Olive hadn't tried to give him coffee – and sipped calmly, before stating: 'I have to agree with Mr Miller, though. We do not have much to go with.'

'Well,' Cod said and waved Olive over again to order a piece of pie, which, Harry was sure he wouldn't pay for, 'but it is a good place to start. Tomorrow morning we'll go and meet with the partner, and then we should go visit the girlfriend.'

Harry groaned again and put his head back onto the table. And here he had thought he would be able to go back to taking care of his café.

******

'Potter,' Snape started that night when they were sitting at the table eating supper. 'Why haven't you asked me anything about your little fan club yet? I had expected you to fire off "How are you"s and "What are they doing"s as soon as I stepped into your ... establishment.'

Harry shrugged and finished his sandwich before getting up.

'Potter?' Harry practically heard the frown that Snape must've been wearing.

Harry put his plate into the sink and leant onto the edge of the counter, trying to ground himself. 'What does it matter? I'm gone. Not in their lives anymore.'

He heard Snape's chair scraping against the floor as he got up. For a moment Harry feared that Snape would come closer, but Snape moved in the direction of the sofa instead.

'So you wouldn't want to know if something had happened to them? If they had been killed by a rogue Death Eater?'  
Harry's heart seemed to stop for a second and he whirled around, pain in every fibre of his body. 'Are they -? Merlin, no. Don't… Merlin. Ron. Hermione. Merlin, I -'

'Calm down, Potter!' Snape snapped. 'There is nothing to worry about.'

Harry snapped his head up, staring disbelievingly at Snape, his eyes wet from yet unshed tears. 'What? I ... Do you mean they are alive?'

'Alive and as well as they could be. Now cut the drama, I was merely speaking hypothetically.'

'You bastard! How could you?!'

Snape shrugged unconcernedly. 'I wanted to find out if you really didn't care. You appeared to be too unconcerned with your friends' fate. It surprised me, quite frankly.'

Harry shook his head, feeling drained, and sat down on the nearest chair. His knees felt like pudding and his heart was still beating too fast. 'I can't believe you. But,' Harry looked up at Snape. 'They really are all alright then?'

'Yes, at least as far as I know.' Snape cleared his throat and crossed his legs. He didn't move from the comfortable spot on the sofa. 'Mr Weasley and Miss Granger are doing quite well. In fact, I saw their engagement announcement in the Prophet.'

Harry let out a weak laugh. So they were getting married. Not that he was surprised. They might not have been snogging (and doing whatever else he didn't want to think about) for that long, but for Harry their relationship had secretly been going on for years now. 'And Neville? Luna? Ginny? What about them?'

'Mr Longbottom and Miss Weasley have been working to help reconstruct Hogwarts. I heard a rumour that Mr Longbottom will apprentice with Professor Sprout, but I'm not sure whether this is true. Nor do I know much more about Miss Weasley. As for that ... Lovegood girl ... I believe she is travelling through the country to find one or the other creature she thinks exists. I have no doubt that she will fail, but I also have no doubt that she won't feel any concern regarding this. I remember her from her schooldays. She always had the strange ability to only see and hear what she wanted.'

Harry snorted. Yes, that was one way to describe Luna.

Suddenly Harry felt lighter. He hadn't expected to feel like this, that he had needed to hear that his friends were doing okay. His heart constricted slightly, but not painfully. While he missed them, missed being with them, he couldn't imagine going back. He had had his reasons to come here and those reasons were still the same. And now he had built a life here, of some sort.

'Thank you,' Harry said quietly and got up to do the dishes.

******

Cod came just before lunch-time to whisk them off to the next investigation mission, much to Olive's displeasure. Harry wasn't exactly excited either, as he had to leave Olive alone to cope with the flood of customers that usually came in just after lunch. At least he had managed to bake enough pies to last through the rush. He hoped he would be back to help with the tea-time customers though.

The first meeting that they had was with Jacques's business partner Simon, who was waiting for them in his office. The place looked messy, as did Simon, whose shirt was rumpled. His face was blotchy and it seemed like he had been crying not long ago.

Once seated facing Simon, the three of them cleared their throats almost simultaneously, and Cod began the questioning: 'I'm sure you know why we are here -'

'Because of Jacques. Because he is dead.' Simon tilted his head slightly. 'You don't look like PIs. Are you really PIs?'  
'I am,' Cod said, trying to look honest and competent. 'The other two are just … guest investigators. They usually work in the Pie Hole.'  
'The Pie Hole?!' Simon sounded surprised for a second, but then came back to the topic. 'What exactly do you want to know about Jacques?'

Cod nodded. 'We are investigating his murder and we have to ask his family and friends some questions in order to shed some light on the whole matter.'

'Jacques's parents told us that you and he were working on a project,' Harry put in, drawing Simon's teary attention towards himself. 'Could you tell us what that project was?'

Simon gave him a weirdly distorted smile and sniffed. 'I don't know much about it, just some minor details. He ... he was the genius of the two of us.'

'No doubt,' mumbled Snap, ignoring the look that Harry shot him.

Cod seemed to lose his patience with Simon as well. 'Tell us about those minor details.'

Simon cleared his throat and nodded shakily. 'He ... Jacques had this idea. He wanted to build a model village. He wanted to give it a French look, but he didn't show me any of his drawings. He liked to put on a show, be dramatic. He wanted the advertisement to be the first time that anyone else took a look at it.'

'So you weren't involved in this whole thing at all?' Cod asked.

Simon shrugged. 'Just the paperwork.'

'And where were you during the time that Jacques was murdered?' Cod looked down at his notebook where, Harry could see, he had drawn up a table showing the names of the people that had surrounded Jacques and their statements, complete with time and place.

Simon looked at them, one after another, his eyes wet again and wide. 'You think I killed him?' he croaked. Cod let out a small groan and Snape shifted in his seat in a way that Harry was sure brought his wand closer to his hand. 'He was my best friend. Without him ...' Simon started to sob. 'Without him I don't know what to do! He was everything!'

Even Harry felt slightly annoyed by now at the melodramatics that Simon was displaying, but he tried to keep the same friendly tone that he had had at the beginning. 'Do you know anyone else who would want to harm Jacques?'

'Patricia!' Simon spat, his face suddenly no longer showing grief but fury. 'That evil bitch of a girlfriend was a money-sucking whore.' Harry blinked and Simon was back to the waterworks.

******

Outside the building, Harry leant against Cod's car, much to the displeasure of the latter, though Harry couldn't really bring himself to care.

'Blimey, I'm glad to be out of there,' he sighed and shook his head.

'Yes. And it was just yet another failure regarding our investigations,' Snape remarked.

Cod raised his eyebrows. 'I'm surprised to hear this knowing tone from you, Snape. Have you worked in the business before?'

Snape snorted, shooting Cod a look. 'You should know, shouldn't you? After all you checked me out.'

'How did you -?' Cod asked, eyebrows rising even higher.

'Oh please, that was not hard to deduce. I accompany you on your investigations and you know barely anything about me. Of course you would check me out.' Snape studied his fingers. 'And did you find out anything?'

Cod shrugged. 'Last record I found under your name – and I suspect that you're the only one with that name. Severus is not what I would call a common name. – is that you finished your elementary school educations. After that I found nothing.'

Snape just shrugged, utterly unimpressed.

'And Mr 'Miller' here appeared in the records little more than a year ago,' Cod added. 'Care to explain?'

'No, we do not,' Snape drawled and got into the car.

 

******

The talk with Jacques's girlfriend Patricia didn't go much better than the talk with Simon. Unlike Simon she was very keen on talking and told them everything starting from Jacques's favourite colour to the size of his shoes. Just as Harry was feeling ready to scrape out his brain with a spoon, though, it finally started to get interesting.

'And you really know nothing of that project Jacques and Simon were working on?' Cod, who was the only one by now asking any questions at all, wanted to know.

Patricia gave a tinkering laugh. 'Simon! Working on a project? In this firm, he was little more than a tea boy. All he ever does is fill out forms, file them, or run with them to the next bureaucratic idiot to get them signed and stamped.'

'So you're saying that Jacques was the man behind all the ideas that made money?'

'Of course!' Patricia exclaimed and crossed her legs. 'Simon might inherit the firm, but I doubt he will be able to do more with it than run it into the ground.'

'So he couldn't have known much about the project either, isn't that correct?' Harry asked now. He would only be too happy to exclude Simon (and Patricia, for that matter) from the list of suspects, if only that meant that he wouldn't have to talk to them anymore.

'Oh, no, I wouldn't put it like that. I bet he knows quite a bit about it.' Patricia lowered her voice theatrically, though no-one would be able to overhear her in any case as the big house that she lived in was empty besides the four of them. 'Jacques was a big talker, you know. Especially between the sheets, if you know what I mean.'

As if they'd practiced, the three gave a wide-mouthed and wide-eyed 'Aaaah!' and nodded knowingly.

'An affair is a motive for murder – on both sides of the coin,' Snape remarked.

'Are you suggesting that it was me who killed Jacques?' While Patricia seemed surprised Harry couldn't help but wonder... after all, Patricia didn't look like she was grieving much, despite the black clothes that she was wearing. Her eyes weren't the least bit red and she had greeted them cheerfully. Harry shook his head. What was he saying? People had different styles of grief. Some just didn't show that they were breaking inside. He would know.

Snape shrugged. 'Do you know anyone who might have?'

Patricia huffed. 'Oh, of course, it has to be the girlfriend! Just because my boyfriend had an affair doesn't make me a murderer. Besides, I was shopping for Jacques's great presentation at that time. He liked to put on a show and I was expected to play my part.' Carefully she smoothed out some wrinkles in her skirt. 'Shouldn't you be looking for the real murderer instead of blaming someone who loved him? As you said, there are two sides of the coin. What about Simon? Jacques had no intention of leaving me -'

'That's what you say,' Cod noted dryly, sending Patricia into a huff.

'Would you rather take the word of that whiny bitch Simon?' Nobody answered and she seemed to take this as her confirmation. 'And now you should leave. I have a funeral to arrange.'

******

With the grumbled promise – or threat, as Harry saw it – to pick them up the next day to pay yet another visit to Simon, who had apparently not told them everything that he knew, Cod drove them to the Pie Hole, where Olive greeted them with icy silence. Cod had said that he would be visiting to the city's archives, which naturally were already closed, the next morning, so Harry was looking forward to actually spending some time in his café rather than touring through the city.

'When is this all going to be over?' Harry groaned as he brought Snape's tea and sat down. His white apron was full of flour from the pies he had made for the last hours of business (Olive would be glad to take home whatever was left over – and maybe Snape wouldn't be averse to an additional piece either).

'I take it you aren't enjoying yourself then, Potter?' Snape said. 'By the way, your change of name is not only ridiculous, but also impractical.'

Harry shrugged. 'You're just miffed that you can't say my name whenever you want to make your point.' Snape gave Harry a funny look, which Harry naturally ignored. 'And no, I am not enjoying myself.'

'One would have thought that you would enjoy yourself. After all you seemed to love conducting investigations and solving riddles while at school.'

'Those times are long over. People change,' Harry sighed.

Snape regarded Harry quietly for a moment. 'So it seems.'

There was that weird tingling in Harry's stomach again as he met Snape's eyes, one that raced through his whole body, making him blush. He tried to shake it off, but it didn't work, not even when he told himself that he had sworn himself not to feel anything like it ever again. Trying to distract himself, Harry pulled out a piece of crumpled paper.

'What's that?' Snape wanted to know.

'A list of pies.' Harry cleared his throat. 'Recipes, I mean. Things I'd like to try out. Maybe ... maybe you could help me decide which ones to choose for this week? I can't introduce to many new ones or I might overwhelm my customers with the variety of choice...' He trailed off, slightly embarrassed. He wondered if Snape thought him a failure. After all, he had spent years trying to educate Harry (and insulting him about his lack of progress) along with the rest of Hogwarts teachers and now here Harry was, baking pies in the Muggle world. Not that it would change Harry's choice to live here, but Harry couldn't help but wish for Snape's approval.

'Well? Tell me what they are. Or do you expect me to extract the recipes from your mind?'

Harry hastily looked at the piece of paper, avoiding eye contact. He didn't like to imagine what Snape might see in there... 'I have fruit pies with mango and peach or banana and cherry, then some Finnish pastries that I've read about – they are called 'Pulla' or something like that. They come either with blueberries or cinnamon, for example. And then I thought maybe I could present some more real gateaux. Nut and almond-paste cream gateau or a triple chocolate one. Or maybe a meringue with strawberries and cream.'

Harry wasn't sure if he had imagined it, but he rather fancied that Snape licked his lips. 'They all sound quite... passable by their names, but I can't really make a choice without having sampled all of them.'

Harry grinned wryly. 'You just want free pies.'

'I get my pies free anyway, don't I?' Snape commented haughtily. 'Maybe I should take a look at those recipes – just in case you're trying to poison me. I'm still surprised that someone who was so abysmal in potions can cook, let alone manage the fine art of baking.'

'Oh, so what I'm doing is art?' Harry grinned broadly. That had been two compliments – Snapish compliments, but still compliments – in one go. He could barely grasp how lucky he was tonight.

'Give me that,' Snape grumbled and reached for the paper.

Harry saw Snape's fingers coming closer to his as if someone had just switched on slow-motion. Snape would touch him, Snape would fall down dead. It would be Harry's fault all over again – the only consolation that he was a murderer would be gone, the only one that he ever felt so much ... so much ... Harry snatched his hand back, the paper dropping onto the table, and scrambled off his seat. 'Don't touch me!' he gasped in panic.

At first Snape looked at him with confusion, then anger and contempt joined the mixture. 'You ungrateful – Don't you worry, I won't come near you, _Potter_!'

Harry fled to the kitchen.

******

When Harry was ready to close the café, Snape was already waiting impatiently by the door. His expression was still thunderous, and they walked silently to Harry's flat, each careful not to walk too close to the other.

The mood didn't lighten even when they were inside. Snape just threw his coat onto the coatrack and stalked to the sofa, where he promptly hid behind his newspaper. Hanging his head, Harry walked into the kitchen to prepare a light supper. Snape would leave, he was sure of that. And even though days ago he had wished for exactly that to happen he couldn't bear the thought of it now. Even in this short time he had got used to Snape's presence. He couldn't just _let_ Snape leave! He had to do something. Had to tell him at least a bit of the truth, if only so Snape would understand and wouldn't leave.

But how?

 

The right moment – or the only actual opportunity that was left for Harry before the two of them would retire to bed – came after supper. Harry took the dishes away and dumped them in the sink, before turning around again and leaning back against the counter, so he could face Snape. He took a deep breath to start his explanation, but naturally Snape had to be quicker than Harry.

'Save your breath, Potter. I do not need your feeble apologies. I have very well understood what you think of me and, believe me, I had no intention of touching you in any way that is inappropriate,' Snape spit out.

Harry closed his eyes briefly. Maybe it was a good thing that Snape had no idea that Harry would barely find _anything_ that involved Snape touching him as inappropriate, given different circumstances. 'I can't touch you,' he blurted.

Snape merely snorted bitterly. 'Is this physical ailment new? Because I clearly remember -'

'You would die!' Harry took a hasty step forward and gripped the back of a chair, positioning it in front of him as if to ward something off. The analogy was not missed by Snape.

'I don't know what Gryffindor fantasy of yours makes you believe that, but I can assure you that I'm neither frail nor made out of porcelain. Touch cannot kill me.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, no, you're wrong.' Snape frowned at that. 'It'd kill you. My touch. It would kill you.'

'Potter, what in the name of Merlin and Morgana are you talking about? Has no-one ever tried – no, what am I talking about? Of course no-one has.'

Harry twisted his hands, trying to convince himself that telling Snape would be the right thing. Snape mustn't leave him. And he had to know that he could never come to close to Harry – not that he was the type to do so. But the thought... the thought that there maybe was a chance for that to happen... 'Do you remember the morgue?' he blurted.

'The morgue? Of course, but what -'

'When I touched the Jacques. For the second time.'

It took a moment, but then Snape's eyes grew wide. Harry looked away. 'You mean...?' Snape was silent for a moment. 'So that's how... Now I understand.'

Harry nodded. 'If I touch you again -'

'I will die.'

'Yes.'

'Bloody hell.' Harry risked a glance at Snape and saw him touching his scar. 'So I was dead. Really dead. I hadn't thought... but I am alive now. Completely. My wounds even healed.' Snape's head snapped up. 'You did something different with me than with McLachlan, didn't you?' He got up and started pacing, then continued without waiting for Harry's answer. 'In the morgue you said that you couldn't keep someone alive for longer than a minute. Was it that that did it? Did keeping me alive heal me?'

Harry looked away from Snape again. This was a question that he couldn't – wouldn't answer. His thoughts raced back to that fatal night that had changed his life in so many ways. He hadn't seen Umbridge at all. Not during the battle or after, not even when they had brought her body in. And yet he could imagine her lying there, still and untouched, as if an Avada Kedavra had hit her. They must've thought that this had been the cause of her death. In the end, though, it didn't matter that the words hadn't been spoken. The whole thing was unforgivable all the same.

'But if that had been the case you wouldn't have hesitated to revive others. This is not how magic works...'

'You think this is magic?' Harry started pacing himself. 'You think this is good?'

'I haven't said that, Potter, but one would think so, yes. After all you revived me.'

'You aren't the one who has to watch what he touches. I revive things by accident. Flies, bees. Sometimes bigger things. I touch rotten fruit so it turns edible again, but I can never taste it or it would be foul the second it touches my tongue.' Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'And if I do ... if I do touch something that I revived because I liked it, it dies! This is not a good thing, Snape. This is a curse.'

'So you wish that you hadn't brought me back to life?' Snape said, back to frowning and wearing a dark look upon his face.

Harry's resulting laugh sounded rather hollow. 'Merlin, no. Haven't you understood any thing of what I just said? If there's one thing that I don't regret it's reviving you. No matter what the price was.' Harry closed his eyes. There, he had said it. If only he had shut up. He shouldn't have told Snape a thing. He would leave now, anyway, maybe it would've been better if the reason had been that Snape thought that Harry didn't like him.

'Price? What are you talking about, Potter?'

'Nothing.'

'Potter!' Snape was in front of him, close to grabbing his collar and shaking him with only a few strides. He barely managed to restrain himself, then took a step back and let his hands fall. 'Tell me!'

Harry shook his head.

'Tell. Me.'

'A life for another life, okay?!' Harry shouted turning away again. There. Now he only had to wait for the door to fall into its lock after Snape had left.

'A life ... you mean that someone had to die in order for me to live?' Harry's silence seemed to be enough answer. 'Who?'

What sense was there in not answering this little question? It would be easy enough to find out if Snape checked the records, after all. They probably kept track of who was found where. 'Umbridge.'

It took a moment until – _the lock, the lock, surely there would be the click of the lock_ – Snape let out a weird-sounding, barking laugh. 'That hag? Why on earth did you hesitate to tell me _that_?'

Harry turned around slowly, neither believing that Snape was still here nor that he sounded ... amused? 'Are you ... are you not angry at me?'

'Angry? What for? That I'm alive?'

'But I killed another person.'

'So?' Upon seeing Harry's distraught look Snape sobered up a little. 'Listen to me. Did you plan for it to be Umbridge?'

Harry shook his head.

'Who did you plan it to be then?'

Harry shrugged.

'Oh, I see. You didn't have a plan at all.'

'I...' Harry swallowed heavily. 'I came to the Shack. To say goodbye, I suppose and I saw you and ...' No, he couldn't tell Snape what he had thought back then. It was best that Snape didn't know. 'I didn't think it would work. Well, I wasn't sure. I thought I would be the only one around...'

Snape took in the story and once again, after a few moments, his eyes grew wide. 'You thought it would be you,' he breathed. 'You thought... Were you really going to...?' Snape blinked slowly, apparently not ready to take it all in. 'I think I need a drink,' he said eventually. Harry could only agree.  


******

  
'An' ... an' I shaid. I shaid to her ...' Snape blinked confusedly trying to concentrate on the story. 'Well, I don' know what I shaid to her. Bu' I shaid it.'

Harry nodded wisely. He had understood everything perfectly well. 'I know that. You shay shomefing an' ... an' you shay it. An' they don' _know_!'

'Yes! Yes, they don'!' Snape swung his glass of Firewhiskey around to make his point, not even noticing that he spilled half of it onto the cushions of the sofa. They already had finished off Harry's scotch and had started on Snape's secret stash, which maybe had or hadn't been such a good idea. Harry wasn't quite sure on that point – but he did know that whatever the bloody hell they were talking about was profound.

'Profound!' he shouted loudly.

'I didn' know you knew that word.' Even drunk Snape still managed to be a bastard.

Harry shrugged. 'Didn' either.' He downed his Firewhiskey in one go and pushed his glass towards Snape to get another fill. When the glass was full and he had taken it back again, he said, after some quiet moments. 'I hate this.'

'Hate what? I hate a lot. You have to spe- ... to speffi- ... spezipi-' Snape swallowed another hearty sip. 'Spe-ci-fy.'

'Not bein' able to touch. It'sh shit. I have to be careful,' Careful clearly had too many 'l's. 'So I don' kill you. I like you to live.'

'That'sh good. I like livin' too. I think.' Snape frowned and pondered about that. Or maybe he just stared into space. 'Yes. I do. I like it. Just not when idiots are 'round.'

Harry let out a noise that sounded like a verbal fart. 'I'm an idiot!'

Snape looked at him long and hard and Harry looked back – for the first time really looked back at Snape, meeting his eyes, without being afraid. Alcohol apparently did wonders for that sort of thing. 'I dunno,' Snape declared finally.

 

******

The morning after was weird to say the least. It was not only because the place reeked of alcohol and hangovers – which both of them suffered from massively – or that they were actually able to remember snippets of their talk. It was more the fact that they had, in fact, gotten drunk together, combined with the knowledge of what had caused it in the beginning.

They had been quiet, waiting for the potion that Snape had forced down Harry's throat – metaphorically speaking, that was, because a potion definitely worked quicker than some Muggle pills and Harry easily saw the sense in not prolonging the agony – to take effect. The café was blessedly empty, save for one or two equally afflicted souls. Olive wasn't in yet, as her shift would begin later on when Harry expected Cod to pick up him and Snape.

Despite the hangover Snape had brought books to the café this time instead of his usual newspaper and Harry had left him to his reading with a cup of tea, while he had gone to the kitchen to bake some pies. It was nearly eleven o'clock when Harry joined Snape again with a freshly brewed pot of tea, a cup of coffee for himself, and two pieces of pie.

'What's that?' Snape asked by the way of greeting, and pointing at the pie.

'That's banana-cherry pie.'

Snape raised his eyebrows knowingly, but took up the small dessert fork nevertheless. 'And you're still drinking that uncivilised brew, I see.'

'Sure,' Harry shrugged. 'Why not?'

The look that Snape shot him spoke volumes and instead of wasting another word on Harry, Snape tucked into the pie. Harry watched that damn fork vanish between Snape's lips again and couldn't tear his eyes away. He didn't even know why. Snape's lips weren't plump, they weren't lush, they didn't make people think of long snogging-sessions. But they made _Harry_ think of that. It didn't matter that they were the lips that went especially well with Snape's dry wit or his scathing, sometimes mean, and always passionate character. That they had been instrumental to insulting and hurting Harry so many times. But now they just made him think of different things.

At the beginning, right after Harry had come here to the Muggle world he had tried to tell himself that he wanted Snape because he couldn't have him. It was a simple principle. People always wanted what they didn't have. More muscles, nicer hair, more money, a bigger prick. Didn't mean that you got it, right? And that seemed to apply to Snape as well. But the more he had thought about it – that was before he had forbidden himself to think of it at all – the firmer had been the conclusion that he actually had felt more for Snape for a while, probably since reading the Half-Blood Prince's notes. Not that Snape would have responded even if Harry had tried to approach him. Besides the fact that Harry was Harry _Potter_ and that Snape hated his guts (though there didn't seem to be that much hate left; and Snape had saved his life so many times that Harry had lost count), Harry still had been a student. He couldn't imagine Snape going for that.

Of course his chances were still as slim. Snape had loved Harry's mother (and yes, he had imagined that Snape maybe was bisexual – and in those dreams he and Snape had ridden off into the sunset on a nice, big broom, both of them starkers). So there. It didn't matter that Harry was a man now – not only mentally or physically, but also by law. None of that mattered. Nor did it -

'You look like you're hurting your brain, Potter. Desist at once. The look is not becoming on you,' Snape mumbled into his cup and snapped Harry out of his thoughts. Harry gave him a sheepish smile.

'Snape?'

'I'm reading, you know? And shouldn't you be baking pies?'

Harry waved him off impatiently. 'There are enough in the oven at the moment. Besides, let me worry about the pie baking.'

'Be my guest.' Snape shrugged.

'I was thinking -'

'Merlin help me, don't try. The damages won't be fixable.'

'Ha-bloody-ha.' Harry rolled his eyes. 'But really. ... Why are you still here?'

Snape looked up from the book, raising an eyebrow. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean, I told you what you wanted to know -'

'You don't know what I wanted or want to know, Potter, so don't dare to assume. I will decide when I know enough – and at the moment I am not satisfied.'

'What else do you want then? I don't know more!' Harry raked his hand through his hair in frustration.

'Do you wish me to leave?'

Yes. No. Yes. No. 'No!'

Snape pursed his lips. 'I see. Well, now I know more, but still not enough. And besides, we are in the middle of a job. I do not tend to leave my jobs unfinished, Potter. And to answer your other question: Right at the moment I want you to leave me to my reading.' And with that air of finality, Snape concentrated on his book again.

******

  
'I went to the archives today – one of the dustiest places I've ever been to, including my ex-girlfriend's flat – and found the papers that Simon said he had brought there. As Jacques is dead now they are still lying around on some executive's desk, waiting to be sent back,' Cod told Snape and Harry as he walked into the Pie Hole. He looked a little exhausted and waved to Olive to fetch him some coffee.

'What papers exactly did he file?' Snape asked and closed his books, putting them right next to him on the bench.

Cod shrugged, looking bored. 'An application for planning permission and some deeds regarding a purchase of land or something. Haven't yet found the time to take a proper look at them.' He regarded Snape thoughtfully and added, 'But you could do that. You look like the type -'

Snape raised his eyebrow, daring Cod to continue. Which he did not. Instead he turned towards Harry and clapped his hands together. 'So, ready for the next talk with Simon?'

Harry snorted and waited until Olive had brought the coffee and had left. These days she automatically looked disgruntled when he was anywhere near Snape or Cod. 'I could imagine things that are more ... appealing to me, thanks.'

Cod, drinking his coffee, seemed uncaring, naturally.

******

This time Simon did not expect them and jumped to his feet when they entered the office.

'How is business going?' Cod asked, picking up a small figurine that graced a coffee table. He let it wander from one to the other hand, apparently carelessly, obviously enjoying Simon's squirming.

'What do you -' Simon cleared his throat. 'Why are you here? Have you found the killer?'

'No.'

'How ... how can I help you then?' Every syllable, every hand movement belied Simon's nervousness.

'You forgot to tell us a little detail, Simon,' Snape started, stepping closer to Simon.

'I ... I did?'

'Oh yes,' Cod said, joining Snape. Harry rolled his eyes. What was this supposed to be? Bad cop and bad cop? Was he supposed to play the good one again? Harry went over to a comfortable looking chair and sat down. He would completely stay out of this farce and just sit back and watch.

'You forgot to mention that McLachlan regularly shagged you senseless.' Snape grinned maliciously, enjoying every single moment of it,

'I ... He didn't!'

'Oh, come on!' Cod snorted. 'Of course he did! You can just admit it.'

It looked as if Simon wanted to start off yet another protest, but then he decided against it. 'Who told you?'

'McLachlan's _girlfriend_.'

'She knew?'

'Hell yeah, she did!' Cod snapped open his little notebook. 'Knew it and told us about it.'

Simon gulped. 'Why are you interrogating me, then? I bet it was her! She killed Jacques!' It looked like Simon wanted to turn on the waterworks again, but thank Merlin Cod was faster.

'_She has an alibi_.'

'So do I!'

'Handing in the papers? The clerk said that you gave them to him more than an hour before McLachlan died.'

Simon bit his lip, looking down. Harry leant forwards in his seat. Was this it? Was this the moment that Simon would confess the murder of his lover? The moment that they would be able to arrest him? And finally be able to go back to their bloody lives, minding their own bloody business?

'I ... There's a temp in the registration office. His name is Clarence. ... We ... we _met up_.'

Harry eyes grew wide. 'You cheated on the man that cheated on his girlfriend with you?' he gasped, effectively breaking his promise of leaning back and doing nothing.

Simon squirmed. 'It wasn't like we were monogamous.' Snape and Cod snorted.

'We'll investigate your statement and confirm it with the temp. If you'd be so kind as to give me his phone number so that I can call him before you do.' Cod looked expectantly at Simon, who regarded with him with a look of pure disgust, but did what Cod had ordered him to anyway.

'Instead of investigating me you should be wondering why Jacques's bloody parents have harassed me ever since he died. They haven't stopped calling to tell me to stop the plans. As if anyone would go through with them now that Jacques's dead, anyway.'

 

******

Cod had called Jacques's parents, but their maid had told them that the McLachlan's were out for the night and would be happy to meet them the following morning after breakfast. Cod very apparently didn't like that kind of behaviour – being ordered around like a servant – anymore than Harry or Snape but couldn't do anything about it as he wasn't a police officer and couldn't wield a search warrant or something similar. He was completely dependent on people working with him, talking with him and at least had to pretend that he was friendly and accommodating. Which he hadn't been with Harry or Snape afterwards and had more or less kicked them out of the car.

Snape was still pissed off about being kicked out of the car hours later and had apparently decided to hate everything that he saw. Even more so than usual, that was. The Pie Hole was closed for the night again and Olive had left as usual. Harry was just cleaning up the bakery, which he always cleaned up himself. After all he didn't want anyone to check the refrigerators more closely or even attempt to clean them, only to find mouldy fruit in there.

'Potter, would you hurry up? I haven't eaten all day -'

'You had pie,' Harry said, dunking his rag into the bucket of water.

'Potter. Pie is not food. Pie is a sweet.'

'No. A sweet is something like fudge. Or chocolate. Or a lemon drop.'

Snape grumbled at that and shot him a look. 'Pie is still sweet.'

'There is meat-pie though.'

'Do you serve meat-pie?'

'No.'

'There you go. Meaning your pie is sweet, which in turn means that your pie could be _classified_ as a sweet. Meaning that your pie is not food.' Snape crossed his arms in obvious satisfaction and smirked at Harry.

'Well, you'll just have to wait and be hungry then, because I need to clean my bakery first.'

Suddenly the rag in his hand began to twitch, then jerked out of his hand and started cleaning the floor on its own. Harry stared at Snape, who still had his wand out, with his mouth agape. 'I can't believe you just did that!'

Snape shrugged, showing no concern at all. 'I think we can go now.'

'I told you that I don't want you to use any magic around me.'

'You didn't.'

'I did!'

'No, you didn't. You informed me of your wishes regarding your living arrangements being magic-free – which I have had the courtesy to respect, as I am a guest in your flat. But you never extended that rule to your café.' Snape shrank the books that he had had with him in the café and tucked them, as well as his wand away. 'I can't say I understand why you don't want to use magic, anyway.'

Harry rubbed his hand over his face, but gave up the argument for the time being, and grabbed his jacket from the coat-rack. 'After everything I told you yesterday you are still surprised? The way I used my magic...' Harry shook his head. 'Besides, I left the Wizarding world. For all intents and purposes I'm a Muggle now.'

'Potter, you will never be a Muggle.'

'Yeah, I know.' Harry looked down at his hands.

'Not because of that, you dolt! Because you are a _wizard_!' Snape left the café, then waited for Harry to lock the backdoor. Harry fiddled with the keys for a while, not sure he really wanted to leave the café and get into a discussion about the use of his magic instead. But Snape wouldn't leave the topic alone – he never left anything alone as soon as he had tasted blood – and there was no sense in running.

'You can take the wizard out of the Wizarding world, Potter, but not the Wizarding world out of the wizard.'

Harry grinned wryly. 'Now you sound like Dumbledore.'  
They fell into step and slowly walked out of the back alley onto the now quiet main street. Harry often wondered about the contrast of day and night on the streets, when suddenly everyone ran back inside, staying in their seemingly secure home. He wondered if it was the same now in the Wizarding world, if Voldemort and his regime had made a strong impression on the population and had changed their habits that much. When he had stayed in Diagon Alley just before his third year, when everyone had been so afraid of Sirius, people had still gone out at night. Diagon Alley had never been silent and – or so he would imagine – neither had Knockturn Alley. Had the magical population returned to their habits?

He asked Snape the same question, but he just shrugged. 'I wouldn't know,' he said. 'I never cared much about what other people did.' Harry knew this wasn't true. Snape was a nosy sod and never rested until he had learned every secret one had. 'Besides, I was happy to be rid of those idiots and spend my time on my own, at home.'

'So Spinner's End is still standing?'

'Barely.' Snape put his hands in his pockets. 'I don't live there anymore.'

Harry looked up and frowned. 'What? Why not? Is it that damaged?'

'Amongst other things.'

'Where are you living now, then? Besides at my place.'

Snape shrugged indifferently. 'We will see. I'm passing through, you could say.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'That I left the Wizarding society, Potter. Not our world, though. Not like you. I prefer being a wizard to crippling myself by not using magic.'

Harry let the remark slide. After all he wanted to know what Snape was talking about and why he was leaving the whole society. Snape had never been a social person, at least as far as Harry knew, but to leave it completely… 'Why though? Why leave?'

'You off all people should know.'

Harry shook his head. 'This is different. I left because of what I did. What I'm capable off.' He spoke the last words so quietly that they were nearly inaudible.

'It's different? I don't think so. Look at what _I_ have done. Our people won't forget that. Won't forgive it.'

 

'But I told everyone that you had been on our side! Shouted it in Voldemort's face and everyone heard!' Harry protested. They had to know that Snape was one of the good guys. That he had been working for them all along, that he had been the one to save Harry so many times. He had been the one to enable Harry to go on and do what he had to!

'It doesn't matter. Legally I might be a free man, but technically I am not. All they see is a Death Eater. Do you think I'd like to spend my days being despised wherever I go? The only pub that actually serves me is the Hogshead.' Snape shook his head. 'They can stick that were the sun doesn't shine.'

'So you just packed your bags and left?'

'Correct.'

Both of them fell into silence. So Snape was a fugitive like him. Maybe he hadn't fled in the sense that Harry had, but still. They were outcasts, both of them involuntary and voluntary at the same time.   
Harry stopped at the door to his building and rummaged for the key in his pockets. He always managed to forget where exactly he had put it and ended up looking for it every single time.

'I was wondering about something, Potter,' Snape suddenly said, breaking the silence.

'Oh?'

'You left Hogwarts without saying goodbye to anyone, am I correct?'

'How did you -?'

Snape cut into his word. 'I was wondering what happened between you and Miss Weasley.'

Harry, having finally found his key, unlocked the door and started up the stairs, not looking at Snape. 'What do you mean?' It was just like he had said – Snape never rested until he knew every secret. Including this one.

'I haven't heard you talking about her. And I as your hasty departure didn't really leave any room for long goodbyes -'

'I didn't say goodbye to anyone.'

'Precisely. And not saying goodbye to your girlfriend -'

'Ginny and I weren't together anymore. I broke up with her after Dumbledore's death and she understood. I had a job to do. Thought I wouldn't survive. There was no sense in her waiting around for me.'

'Hmm. It seems quite strange after the way you and she were nearly joined at the hip during your sixth year. And you could have revived your relationship with her after the war.'

'Well, things change.' Harry turned the key in his door with a bit more force than needed and quickly stepped into the flat, wishing to leave that damned topic outside the door.

Snape, of course, had no intention of doing so. 'Things like what? I always expected you to end up marrying into the Weasley family and producing a dozen of ginger-haired offspring.' Snape closed the door gently.

'Not bloody likely,' Harry snorted. 'Why do you care anyway?'

'I'm merely curious,' Snape sniffed.

Harry pulled of his jacket and threw it over the back of his second favourite armchair, where it stayed for a matter of seconds before Snape picked it up and put it onto the coat-rack. He went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, ignoring the sound of disapproval that Snape made ('Potter, the kitchen sink is for washing dishes, not your hands.') – It was his bloody flat and he could do whatever he wanted to.

'Of course you are.'

'Why is it not 'bloody likely'?'

Harry groaned, but didn't turn around to face Snape. Instead he got out the leftovers of the soup he had made the evening before and put it in the microwave. 'Because I don't like women enough to do that.'

'Ah.'

'What, no comment? No insult, no ridicule?'

Harry held onto the kitchen counter. He could barely breathe, the thought of Snape behaving exactly as he had feared so big that it constricted his throat. He hadn't told anyone in the Wizarding world. Not even Hermione had known, even though he himself had figured out the gay bit pretty quickly. Well, after he and Ginny had broken up. He still loved Ginny – only not in a way that made him want to rip off her clothes.

'No, Potter.'

'Why? Have you lost your will to joke? Is this terrible enough to -'

'Mr Potter,' Snape's voice was so sharp that it could have cut through steel like it was butter. 'I do not joke. And neither am I easily shocked, so don't presume to know how I will behave. I make sarcastic comments, I insult with wit and merit, I -'

'Well, okay, why didn't you do that then?'

'Because I don't ridicule something like this. Especially not this.' Snape cleared his throat. 'And don't interrupt me again.'

Harry turned around, wanting to say something, but didn't know what to say. Then he heard a low rumble, which had come from the direction of Snape's stomach. Harry blinked and looked at Snape.

'Why are you standing there like that?! Make us some dinner! Or am I supposed to starve?!'

 

******

When Jacques' mother opened the door for them this time, her eyes weren't as red as they had been the last time, nor did she seem as welcoming as before. She led them into the same sitting room as before, where Jacques's father sat waiting. There was nothing left of the calm composure anymore, though an underlying grief could still be felt.

'Well?' Jacques's father said briskly. 'I'd be thankful if we could keep this as short as possible.'

Cod was only too happy to comply. 'We have heard that you are pestering Simon about dropping the project.'

The parents looked at each other in unease and shrugged their shoulders.

'You will be glad to know that the project has indeed been stopped – though that wasn't your doing, but rather the absence of your son.'

The mother sniffed at that, but didn't take out a handkerchief.

'We also heard that you weren't big fans of Jacques's new plans.'

'We didn't really know much... Jacques... 'e was very... 'e wanted to show us the video... and... we don't -' the mother stammered and fidgeted.

'You must know something or you wouldn't care whether or not the project was still going,' Harry interrupted and crossed his arms. It was weird to think of Jacques's parents as his murderers – he couldn't imagine them wanting to kill Jacques, no matter how annoying he had been. But then again Harry couldn't understand how someone could want to kill their child in general either.

Again the parents shared a look. Harry wondered if the look had been more of the knowing sort, the guilty sort, or rather of the slightly confused one. His intuition – he didn't have any experience that would help in situations like this – told him it was the first.

'Jacques... His ideas were mostly brilliant,' the father began. 'It's just ... this last one was rather ...'

'Crazy,' Mrs McLachlan said quietly.

'What exactly did he plan?' Cod asked. He quickly flicked through his notebook, then said: 'We know that he wanted to build a village in a French style -'

'Preposterous!' Mr McLachlan shook his head. 'He said he wanted to honour his heritage, but what he planned to create was a bastardization of it!'

''e wanted to combine French and Scottish elements.' Mrs McLachlan seemed just as displeased about that as her husband.

'But what's so wrong about that?' Harry asked, now completely confused. A fusion of two favourite things was good, wasn't it?

'The way 'e wanted to present everything! Instead of France – the France that I know, with culture, beauty, and diversity – 'e wanted the village to represent a ... a ...'

'Fairy-tale sugar-castle!' Mr McLachlan shook himself in disgust. 'It has nothing to do with either of our cultures! Jacques' idea of incorporating Scotland into his little project was to locate it in the Highlands and have some sheep present.'

'It is an insult!' Mrs McLachlan nodded and crossed her arms. 'We told 'im that.'

'You were angry,' Snape stated and waited for the parents' confirming nods. 'Angry enough to kill Jacques?'

Mr McLachlan jumped up, his face suddenly red with anger. 'How dare you?!'

'It was merely a question, Mr McLachlan,' Snape said with a calmness that made even Harry twitch. He had forgotten how ice-cold Snape could be. How weird that a couple of decent days with the man – and the raging crush that Harry had on him – could make someone forget years and years of seeing and hearing Snape be an utter bastard.

'I wouldn't kill my own son!'

Mrs McLachlan had started crying again.

'You wouldn't have been the first...' Snape mumbled.

'Get out of my house before I call the police!'

 

******

'Well.' Cod stopped the car about a mile away from the McLachlans' house and turned to face both Snape as well as Harry, who was sitting in the backseat as usual. 'I had hoped for a bit more. Now we're back at the beginning again.'

Snape looked slightly hacked off, but he said nothing. Harry doubted that anything that came out of his mouth would be remotely friendly. And he probably would insult Cod's investigative methods.

Harry wasn't so sure about them either, but he wasn't an expert. After all Harry was more the type of person to jump into everything rather than mull thoughts over and over and...

'What now?' Harry asked and sighed tiredly. 'I want to go back to my café. I've so much work to do – I've neglected the bookkeeping completely ever since this... this whatever it is started.'

'You know bookkeeping?' Snape snorted without looking at him. The hidden insult sounded more forced than anything.

'Yeah. How else do you think my café survived for so long?'

'Sheer luck.'

Harry gave Snape a wry grin and concentrated back on Cod, who was looking at his notes again.

'All right,' Cod sighed. 'You can go back to your café. We don't have much to go on at the moment anyway. I have to review all my notes and call some people. Maybe I can find out what the hell we missed.'

******

The rest of the day Harry and Snape spent in the café – Harry baking and trying to sort through the mess of bills and orders that was supposed to be his book-keeping and Snape pouring over his weird, old books.

'You work too hard, Harry,' Olive told him when he was still sitting at the counter, looking at papers, after the last customer had left. She pulled off her apron and sat down next to Harry, patting his arm gently. Harry had to summon all his control in order not to flinch. 'The café alone is enough to keep you busy – you shouldn't waste your time with Cod and _him_.' She nodded her head towards Snape, who pretended he hadn't heard her, even though Olive hadn't even bothered to lower her voice.

Harry frowned. 'I happen to like spending time with _him_,' he said, keeping his own voice low. 'I might be working a bit too hard at the moment, but that has nothing to do with _him_. Besides, it's for a good cause.'

'Just keep telling yourself that, Harry. But don't say I haven't warned you when you overwork yourself and get a heart attack.'

'I'm much too young for that.'

Olive shrugged and gave him a smile, patting his arm again. 'If you ever need help, Harry, you know I'm there for you.'  She got up, hung her apron and made for the door, thin coat in hands. 'See you tomorrow.'

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Snape got up and marched towards Harry. 'What the hell is that woman thinking?!' he snapped and grabbed the sheets that Harry was staring at, causing Harry to startle so wildly that he nearly toppled off of his stool. 'Give me that!'

Rolling his eyes Harry got up and walked behind the counter. They were going to close the café soon anyway, so he might as well start wrapping up the pies in cling film.

'Your book-keeping is a mess, Potter.'

'It's not. You just don't have a clue about something like that.'

Snape jerked up his head and his expression of indignation looked like it was going to be joined by verbal protests soon, so Harry added: 'Muggle taxes and prices and all that.' That seemed to placate Snape somewhat, but he returned to the book keeping anyway.

There were slices of the lemon pie and the raspberry pie left, among others, and Harry considered offering them the next day as special price offers like he sometimes did, but decided against it. He could just give them to the old couple that lived next door. He nodded to himself and moved to wrap up the pies. The evening had some sort of slow quality to it and for once Harry felt more grounded.

A loud snap shook Harry from his thoughts – Snape had closed the book-keeping notebook violently and was now back up and pacing around.

'You know she would fuck you the second you showed only a hint of interest, don't you? She'd throw you on the floor and ride you -'

'Shut up,' Harry said and shuddered. 'Honestly, do you have to be insulting _and_ disgusting at the same time? Usually you're not like that.'

'You don't know me, Potter.'

'Actually, I do.' Harry concentrated hard on the cling film in his hands. He knew more about Snape, he thought, than possibly anyone else. At least, anyone who was still alive. He had seen the man's innermost thoughts, knew stuff that Snape didn't even _talk_ about. He knew Snape's first name as well, his brain supplied helpfully. Severus. _Severus_. He longed to have the name on the tip of his tongue, to hear it being spoken. Who would call Snape – Severus – by his first name these days? There was only Harry. He liked that thought.

'You don't. You can't. And I will be as disgusting as I want to. You are the one who employs a woman of such improper character. Her behaviour is atrocious and impertinent – she has no sense of propriety and shouldn't even think of throwing herself at her employer like that.'

Severus was in full rant-mode now and Harry knew that if he couldn't put a stop to it soon it would go on like this for hours. He was already getting carried away and -

'Hey, Severus.' Merlin, that felt wonderful.

Harry moved without really thinking. Severus was close to the counter and Harry just leant over and, holding a sheet of cling film between them, kissed Severus. He could feel Severus' warmth even through the cling film, could get lost in the heat if he only let himself. He wanted nothing more than to let go of his control and sink into this kiss. But Severus wasn't moving at all and Harry quickly drew back, panic now marring his face.

'Potter...'

'I. Oh. Yes, sorry,' Harry stammered and dropped the cling film. It thudded onto the counter and Harry twitched at the sound that was, in the silence of the café, as loud as Grawp banging rocks.

Severus opened and closed his mouth, but Harry just turned away.

'Potter...' Severus finally managed and he sounded strange. Harry had never heard him sound like that, but he wasn't going to look at Severus' face. He didn't want to see the disgust and horror there.

'Forget it.'

Severus swallowed loudly. 'Harry...'

'You'll eat a piece of pie after dinner, won't you? I still have some bramble pie left – I'll just take some of that, okay?'

Severus sighed. Apparently he had given up on saying Harry's name. Maybe he would even forget what had just happened. 'Yes, of course.'

 

******

He was stupid, Harry found. Immensely and utterly stupid. So what if Severus hadn't made fun of him because he was gay? That didn't mean a thing. That didn't even remotely mean that Severus liked him. There were tons of people who didn't make fun of gay people and that didn't make Harry think that they even remotely cared about him!

Harry cleaned the dishes with more vigour this time. He had probably ruined everything. Severus would leave and never come back. He didn't even know why Severus hadn't already left – the man must be itching to get away from Harry. The thought made Harry tremble. He didn't want Severus to leave, no matter that he hadn't wished for exactly that to happen not so long ago.

Harry heard steps coming closer, Severus cleared his throat behind Harry's back. Harry closed his eyes. There it was. The inevitable -

'Potter?' Another throat clearing. 'Harry...?'

Harry opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. Had Severus just...? He turned around. Severus was holding a roll of cling film in his hand.

 

******

Cod didn't show the next the morning, so Harry and Severus went to the café, where Olive, after taking one look at them, was even more unfriendly to Severus than before. Towards Harry she only showed a stony face when she usually would have been cheery, but Harry was too distracted to really notice the change in her demeanour.

From the outside everything might have seemed normal to the unfamiliar observer – Severus was poring over his books and Harry was busy making pie or helping out serve – but once in a while Harry's and Severus' eyes would meet and Harry would break out into an even wider grin than the one he had been wearing before and Severus would incline his head with just the slightest quirk of his lips.

It was heaven.

******

When Cod finally got there, it wasn't the circles underneath their eyes that were witnesses to a night with barely any sleep that he commented on, but Harry's stupid grin and the slightly swollen state of his lips. Harry couldn't care less – he had had the most fantastic time of his life. The night before he had fallen asleep with his hand touching the wall that separated him and Severus – but instead of the usual sadness and longing he had finally felt good. Happy.

'All right, you -' Cod searched for the proper word to describe Harry and Severus and whatever they were, but gave up and decided to just frown. 'I went through the damned papers all over again and I actually found a little something that every one of our suspects has failed to mention.'

Cod pushed a piece of paper over when both Harry and Severus looked at him questioningly. It was an official-looking letter about the attempt to buy a property from a farmer. The farmer had refused the offer apparently.

'There are three more where this came from,' Cod informed them portentously.

'So? What's the big deal?'

'The big deal is,' Severus snorted, 'that this property probably is located where Coeur d'Coeurs, Jacques' McTwit's village, was supposed to be.' Severus pulled the letter a little bit closer. 'Just look at the sum McLachlan was ready to pay the farmer.'

Cod nodded and gave Severus an approving glance. 'It's way more than any farm in that area could be worth. Quite unusual, isn't it? When I saw the papers I figured that McLachlan must have wanted to have this pretty badly and so I checked up on the other papers for the village. Turns out that that farm would have been in the direct centre of Coeur d'Coeurs – and McLachlan didn't seem to like that one bit. Tried everything to get those grounds – even had some, still unfilled, forms to appeal to court to incapacitate the owner of the farm.'

Harry's eyebrows rose high. 'You can do something like that?'

Cod shrugged. 'I'm not that up-to-date on property law.'

'But the whole thing puts whoever owns the farm under suspicion. At least in my book,' Severus added and Harry could only agree. To imagine that Jacques actually wanted to go so far to incapacitate the poor soul... Who knew how far someone would go to protect himself? He tried imagining what he would have done had someone tried that on him and the uncomfortable feeling crept on him that, had there been some law allowing a person to incapacitate someone else without much fuss, someone in the Wizarding world – if not one of the ministers themselves – would have tried to do that to him. Suddenly he felt immensely glad that he had decided to leave his old life behind.

Harry glanced over at Severus and allowed himself a mental shrug and a small smile. He hadn't been completely successful at leaving everything behind – though he was more than happy about that.

******

The drive to the area that had been supposed to become Coeur d'Coeurs took nearly two hours. Two hours that Harry spent dozing on the backseat to catch up on sleep that he hadn't got during the night.

When they got out of the car, the sky was grey and heavy with what looked like rain. Harry stretched, popping some of the tense muscles in his back, and yawned. Then his eyes fell on the property in front of him and he couldn't help but wonder why the hell the owner of this farm hadn't taken Jacques up on the offer. The place was ghastly and had an aura of neglect about it. In fact the whole place looked bleak enough that Harry very nearly expected Inferi to come slinking around one corner and Dementors around the other.

There were stables from which some scuffling could be heard, but Harry didn't feel inclined to go nearer and investigate. The main house's facade was old and as grey as everything around it. The windows were so dirty that you couldn't even see a proper reflection in them, let alone look through.

'Did someone intend to make it look like that?' Harry wondered out loud, but didn't get an answer. 'At least now I understand why Jacques didn't want it in the middle of his village.'

Well. There was nothing for it. They would have to go knock on the door eventually, Harry thought, and took a step towards the main house. Just at that moment the front door opened and out came a man who fitted in perfectly with his surroundings. He had the same look of unkemptness about him and didn't seem the least bit friendly or pleased to see them.

'What do you want?!' he barked, storming towards them. Harry saw Severus' wand-hand twitch, but Severus did nothing and waited for Cod to react.

'Hallo, I'm Mr Emerson -'

'I don't care who you are – I want you gone. Piss off!' the farmer yelled and shook his fist at them.

'Now, we just have some questions and then we will be off,' Cod said, standing straighter and moving his legs slightly further apart. He didn't wait for the farmer to say anything, but just continued. 'You might have heard that the man who wanted to buy this land from you -'

'Buy?! He tried to steal it!'

'That he has been killed.' Cod tried not to let the farmer disrupt his little speech.

'Serves the bastard right! He wanted to rob me!' the farmer croaked and shook his fist again for good measure. 'Probably ran into trouble because he mouthed off too much. Always liked to talk when he was here. Tried to win me over.'

Cod cleared his throat, which Harry took as a sign that he was feeling just as uneasy as Harry did about this guy. 'Be that as it may ... you might have heard that the police haven't caught his murderer yet.' Cod ignored a huff from the farmer. 'We're not here to take up too much of your valuable time; we just have to ask some questions.'

In the distance Harry saw something moving – it looked like a huge shadow, slowly crawling closer – and even stronger unease came over him. Cod was trying to get some information about the farmer's whereabouts during the time of the murder, but Harry didn't pay them any attention. Instead he watched the shadow, which reminded him uncomfortably of his thought about Dementors. There couldn't be any here, could there?

Slowly he moved his hand to the place on his hip where he kept his wand hidden. For the first time in a long while his fingers itched to take it out. It was only the presence of Severus nearby that made him keep his hands off of the wood.

The shadow came closer and closer and it was only when it wasn't that far off anymore and had stepped into full view that he could see that it actually was a huge dog. The shift in Severus' posture told him that he had seen the dog as well.

'I don't care what happened to the bastard! And I won't answer any of your questions!' the farmer bellowed, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

'We will leave as soon as you -' Cod said, his voice strained. A big vein on his forehead was throbbing slightly and his left hand was balled into a fist. The only thing that probably kept him from hitting the farmer was the fact that the old man seemed to be quite strong himself. And he would probably not tell them anything afterwards, either.

'You will leave now!'

'I -'

'Rufus!' The dog perked up immediately, baring his teeth at the tone of the farmer. Harry eyed it with distrust. 'Get them!'

Harry registered the words just a fraction of a moment after Cod had and ran, together with Severus, after the investigator. The dog, huge and dangerous, followed them, barking loudly and gaining speed with every foot that he ran. Cod reached the car first and jumped behind the wheel. The motor howled and the car started speeding off the moment that Harry reached the door.

'Stop!' Harry yelled and he would have stopped and thrown his hands up in despair if Severus hadn't yelled at him to move his arse or lose it. The dog was awfully close already and it didn't seem to be getting tired at all of chasing them down the muddy lane. In the background Harry could hear the cackling laughter from the farmer.

Next to Harry Severus was gasping for breath before increasing his tempo. Only a couple of feet later he seemed to think better though and whirled around to face the dog. Before Harry could even properly skitter to a halt Severus had shouted 'Stupefy!' and was gasping for air with his hands on his knees. Harry stared at the unconscious form of the monster and shook his head in disbelief.

'Bloody hell,' he mumbled and Severus nodded, then waved his wand at a stone, which turned into a large sofa immediately. Its pattern was flowery, Harry noticed with a snort before he sat down. 'I can't believe that this just happened.'

'Believe it or not, Potter, but -'

'Harry.'

Severus turned his head to look at Harry and Harry looked back, finally allowing their eyes to meet. He didn't have to hide anymore.

'Harry. But Cod deserted us anyway.' Severus looked down at the sofa, then at the dog. 'Hope you don't mind me breaking your nice, little magic-rules.'

'Merlin, no,' Harry laughed faintly. 'You just saved my life all over again.'

Severus rolled his eyes at him. 'You could have done that yourself with ease.' But Harry just shrugged.

They were far enough from the house at least and nobody could see them sitting on their weird, large sofa.

'What now?' Harry asked and let his head rest against the back of the couch. It was a surprisingly comfortable version, especially considering it had been a stone only moments ago.

'Depends on you.'

'On me?'

'Do you want to go home or do you want to find out what that bastard has to hide in his hovel of a farm?'

Harry groaned. What he really wanted was to be at home. To have a bath, a nice dinner, to kiss Severus. What he wanted even more was to touch Severus, only this time without any cling film between them, to feel the heat of his skin. But as usual what he wanted and what he got were two completely different things. 'Let's go and find out. Maybe we can wrap up this whole stupid case then and go back to normal.'

'You don't do normal,' Severus snorted and Harry could only agree silently. He never seemed to manage, no matter how hard he tried.

'How are we going to get inside?'

'Are you a wizard or what? Don't tell me that all the years of your education have been wasted!'

'Well -'

'Oh for Merlin's sakes! Just do it! It comes naturally to you, whether you like it or not. See it as a one-time thing, if you want, but start. I'd rather move before my stunning spell wears off on that beast.'

That got Harry going and he quickly took out his wand. He regarded it with apprehension for a moment – Would it still work for him? Maybe he didn't know the right movements anymore. Or he had just lost his magic. Maybe-

'Do it!'

He had transformed the sofa back to a stone before he had even realised it. The tingling feeling of the magic spread through him and he beamed at Severus. 'Blimey, I'd forgotten how good it felt!' Severus didn't comment and started walking instead. 'Wait, I'll disillusion us!'

******

Getting inside the farm building was surprisingly easy. The backdoor stood open, presumably for the dog, as that monster was too big to fit through any dog flap, and they were able to just sneak in. The farmer was on the phone in the living-room which was as bleak as the rest of the house and he seemed to be in the middle of some sort of argument about _them_.

'... Yes, the big black guy and the two weird ones. ... Yeah. .. They do what? ... They wanted to know where I was on the day that bastard died ...'

Harry listened hard, trying to hear the voice of the person on the other end of the phone, but all he could hear was the loud voice of the farmer. The living room was bare except for a few sticks of old, dusty furniture, an ancient television set and some pictures on the mantel-piece.

'Stay,' Harry hissed just when the farmer began yelling again, and moved towards the pictures, feeling intrigued. Maybe they could give him a clue about the farmer, show him how he had become the man that he was now. The first picture showed the farmer and what seemed to be his wife. Judging from the state of the house she had either left or was dead. Maybe she was even lying around in the attic. Who knew. It wouldn't have been the weirdest thing to see, after having Nagini jump out of Old Bathilda's body. 

The next picture was even older than the first. Harry supposed this could be the farmer's parents, but he couldn't be too sure. Another picture showed the dog and yet another was of the farmer himself with a pig by his side. In the background Harry could see a bench for slaughter.

The last picture made Harry gasp in surprise. Shocked, he covered his mouth with his hands and listened into the momentary silence. The farmer had stopped speaking. Slowly Harry turned around and made his way towards where he had left Severus. He shot some sparks out of his wand and hurried towards the back door just as he heard the farmer say: 'I have to go, there's someone here.'

He ran out of the house and towards where they had sat on the sofa, only disillusioning himself when he was out of view of the house. Severus did the same next to him and raised an eyebrow at Harry that managed to be both questioning, as well as a critique of his spying technique.

'I'll tell you at home,' Harry said, and they Apparated away.  
They landed in the middle of Harry's living room, Harry stumbling so much from the by-now-unfamiliar feeling of Apparition that he fell onto the sofa.

'Woah,' he gasped and wiped his brow, feeling slightly dizzy. 'I think I'm a bit out of practice.'

'You still have all your limbs?'

'Yes.'

'Check the rest. Everything where it should be?'

Harry started wide-eyed at Severus, but quickly pulled off his shoes and socks – yes, all toes where they were supposed to be – then patted his chest and stomach and finally – and as inconspicuously as possible – put a hand on his crotch to check the most important parts. A relieved sigh greeted the proof that everything was in order.

Severus snorted and shook his head at Harry's antics. 'Congratulations, Mr Potter, you just managed not to splinch yourself.'

'Arse.' Harry crossed his arms and pouted a bit until Severus sat down besides him. He scooted away as far as he could and for a moment Severus frowned, but then his expression turned into something that might have been resembling affection.

'So, what was it that you wanted to tell me? What did you see?'

'Oh!' Harry sat up straighter and turned towards Severus, excitement on his face. 'You won't believe whose photo I saw on the mantelpiece!'

'Indeed?'

'I found some family pictures – well, at least most of them are – and there was also one picture of the farmer and,' Harry paused for dramatic measure, 'Patricia!'

'Patricia? You mean the harpy who calls herself the girlfriend of the late McLachlan?' Severus raised an interested eyebrow and hummed. 'That's very interesting news indeed.'

'That can't be a coincidence,' Harry agreed excitedly. Maybe this was the key to this whole murder! Maybe Patricia and the farmer had teamed up to kill poor, cheating Jacques. Maybe ... there were a lot of reasons why they could have done it. Fact was: They were close to solving the murder. Harry could practically taste the end of this whole farce on his tongue. Freedom was near!

******

Harry ended the call with Cod the moment that Severus came out from the bathroom.

'What did he say?' Severus asked and sat down gracefully onto the sofa.  

Harry snorted derisively and went over to the kitchen where he had a pot of tea and a cup of coffee waiting for them. He poured the tea and placed two pieces of left-over pie on two plates, then looked around for something to carry everything with, his mouth pursed. He didn't have a tray as there hadn't been the necessity to buy one before. But walking twice when his legs were this tired... 'Oh, bugger it,' he mumbled and took out his wand. The _Wingardium Leviosa_ came easily to him and he levitated everything over to Severus, who looked at Harry with a certain amount of smugness.

'Don't say it.' Harry sent him a mock frown.

'I wasn't planning on saying anything.' Severus crossed his legs and sniffed, but his expression didn't change. So what if Harry was using magic? He wasn't planning on doing it too often now, was he? It had nothing at all to do with not being able to take the Wizarding world out of the wizard or anything. Severus grew impatient. 'Are you going to just stare at me or are you going to tell me what that coward said?'

Harry stuck out his tongue at Severus and took a sip of his coffee. 'He said that he was sorry that he drove away like that.'

'As if. The bastard isn't the least bit sorry – he just wanted to save his unworthy arse and didn't care what would happen to us.'

'True.' Harry narrowed his eyes at Severus. 'You're not going to curse him, are you?'

Severus smirked at him before calmly taking his cup in his hands. 'Who says that I haven't done that already?'

'You haven't!' Harry gasped, but the protest was half-hearted. There was no doubt that Severus was not only magically able, but also morally up to hexing Cod.

'While I was in the bathroom, in fact.'

'What did you do?' Harry rubbed his hand over his face, but couldn't keep a grin off of it.

'Let's just say that Cod won't be sitting down as much as he used to.' Severus grinned enigmatically enough to sport an evil laugh and stroke a cat sitting in his arms, but instead of doing either he picked up his cake and took a bite. 'What did he say to your revelation?'

'The Patricia thing?' Severus nodded. 'He said that we have to think of something that would make it possible to get a confession from the farmer. And Patricia, if possible.'

'_We_?'

Harry coughed. 'He seemed rather keen on visiting a doctor as soon as possible.'

'Fantastic. Any ideas then?'

Harry shook his head and sipped at the coffee. Slowly the caffeine filled the void that the receding adrenaline from their chase with the dog had left behind and he sighed. Coffee was such a heavenly drink, especially -

'I still don't understand how you can drink something as vile as that.'

Harry opened his eyes that he hadn't noticed that he had closed and blinked confusedly at Severus. 'What? Coffee?'

'Of course coffee,' Severus sniffed derisively and stared down at Harry's cup as if Harry was holding a house-elf and was about to snog him. Harry shuddered at that particular mental comparison. 'It's bitter, unsophisticated and just utterly barbaric.'

Harry laughed. 'You've never even tried one, have you?'

'I'll have you know that as a potions master I'm very well able -'

'As a potions master you know about potions, not about coffee!'

'Well. But I know that you're not drinking the same vile stuff that you usually drink in the morning.'

Harry smiled at that. Severus had paid attention to his morning habits. Somehow this gave him a fluttery feeling in the stomach. 'No, I'm not. This here,' he raised the cup slightly and took another sip before continuing, 'is proper bean-coffee. Like we have in the Pie Hole. In the morning I drink instant -'

'Instant. That can't be anything but disgusting. A good brew has to take a while.'

'Like tea?'

'Yes, indeed. And like a good potions. You can't just whip up anything and expect it to be good.'

Harry shrugged. 'My morning coffee is all right. It serves its purpose in waking me up as fast as possible. The idea of slinking around in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to be ready...'

'You could just spell your coffee machine to do the work, you know,' Severus mumbled, but Harry intentionally didn't hear him and finished his coffee.

'You know what,' he said suddenly and jumped up.

'I know a lot of things.'

'You know what, I have an idea!'

'Stop the press, tell everyone, Harry Potter has an idea!'

Harry stuck out his tongue at Severus – somehow this was becoming a habit – and started pacing around the living-room. 'We have to trick them. I thought ... I thought maybe we could make them come to the Pie Hole – they certainly will know something is up if we try to talk to them at their homes. I mean, I saw in Muggle telly that people wear these recording things you can use to tape what criminals are saying, so you get the confession, but I don't think that's going to work here.'

'Back to the topic. Trick them you say?'

'Yeah!' Harry nodded enthusiastically. 'I don't know how though.  But if they could come here...'

'How do you want to get them here?'

Harry shrugged. 'Invitations?' he said helplessly.

Severus pursed his mouth and then started to nod. 'It might work.'

'What? Really?' Harry blinked. 'And here I was thinking that you would reject it as a stupid idea.'

'Even you can be right occasionally,' Severus said with a smirk.

Harry's reaction was to roll his eyes (he barely kept his tongue in cheek). 'Blimey, thank you.' Severus inclined his head as if he had just paid Harry the biggest compliment in history. 'Arse. Anyway, we have to make them tell the truth somehow...'

'Tell the truth, you say?' Severus gingerly placed his cup on the coffee table and then went over to his coat, and started to rummage in the pockets. After a while he pulled out a miniature trunk – shrunken, no doubt – that looked similar to the one that was already standing next to the couch and in which Severus had stored his clothes and the books that he was readying constantly nowadays. Carefully and with concentration Severus unshrunk the trunk, then opened it. Inside were hundreds – or even thousands – of little flasks and bottles and vials, filled with liquids of every colour and with ingredients, some of which Harry remembered from his Potions classes.

'You've got your potions with you?'

Severus sniffed disdainfully and bestowed Harry with a look that told him just how idiotic that question was. 'You think I leave my home without taking all my belongings with me? I didn't take flight, Harry, I had time to prepare. And besides, I'm a wizard, I can shrink my belongings with ease. As could you, if you actually wanted to.'

Harry made a face, but didn't protest against the last comment. 'How many of those trunks do you have?'

Severus tilted his head in concentration, but finally just shrugged. 'A few.' Then he took something from the trunk and held it up towards Harry for inspection. 'Do you know what this is?'

Harry narrowed his eyes in order to be able to see better. 'Is that ... Veritaserum?'

'Twenty points to Gryffindor.' Harry did stick out his tongue now. 'I suggest we spike their pies a little one drop should be enough to get them talking without actually forcing them to.'

******

They had finished dinner and had watched television for a while – well, Harry had. Severus had pretended that he was reading the newspaper. Then Harry had vanished into the kitchen and had come back with cling film, the sight of which had made Severus smile.

Their first kisses were soft, slowly fogging up the cling film that Harry held between them. He let a little more loose and pressed his lips harder against Severus', then let his tongue dance around Severus' lips. They had tried to do a proper French kiss once, but kissing with cling film in their mouths hadn't been very good. But these little kisses, so promising, so teasing, sometimes forceful, sometimes soft, were incredible as well. Harry could feel the chemistry between him and Severus, his blood pumping through his veins faster and faster.

Harry felt himself harden and his breath hitched, the need to touch nearly becoming overwhelming. He drew back slightly and looked at Severus with hooded eyelids, biting his lip to keep himself from saying how much he wanted Severus when he couldn't have him.

It was Severus who said huskily: 'Bloody hell, I want you, Harry.' It was the use of his first name that made Harry moan.

'Merlin...'

Severus leant back slightly and just _looked_ at Harry, letting his gaze slide up and down Harry's body, then letting it rest on Harry's crotch. 'Touch yourself, Harry,' he said in the same hungry voice as before and licked his lips. 'I want to see you.'

Harry bit his lip again and, breathing heavily, he moved his hands to his crotch, rubbing over the bulge in his jeans.

'Take off your shirt.'

Blushing, Harry moved his hands behind his head and pulled off the long-sleeved shirt that he was wearing, revealing a body that still bore some marks from the war and from malnutrition, but that had also filled out a little. Harry's blush quickly spread over his chest when Severus commanded him to take off his jeans and he looked at Severus and, jutting his chin up a little, he whispered: 'You too. I want,' Harry gulped heavily at the thought before voicing it, 'I want to see you naked.'

Smirking maybe a little and definitely looking pleased, Severus began to unbutton his own shirt, ever so slowly letting each button pop through its hole. Meanwhile Harry squirmed out of his jeans and, for good measure, also got rid of his socks. The boxer-briefs that he was wearing were strained by his erection, a wet spot already forming.

'Merlin, you are delicious,' Severus murmured. 'Go on, touch yourself.'

Without waiting for the instruction to take off his boxers Harry pushed them out of the way and took his dick in his hand, all the while never taking his eyes off of Severus' now naked chest. His eyes wandered down Severus' stomach, then followed the pleasure trail to where Severus was unbuttoning his trousers. Harry started to move his hand, imagining it was Severus who was touching him, spreading his legs as far as his pants allowed.

When Severus had finally unbuttoned his trousers he seemed to lose his patience and, grabbing his wand, quickly spelled them and his underwear away, leaving him bare for Harry to see. Harry groaned at the sight of Severus' hard prick. Pearly precome was glistening at its tip and it seemed to grow even harder when Severus' long fingers encircled it.

Staring at each other they moved their hands, stroked their cocks, arching up, tightening their grips to get more friction. Harry felt himself get close to coming and sped up his movements.

'Harry,' Severus groaned, 'stop.' Harry looked incredulously at Severus. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't stop now when he was about to – 'I want to see you fuck yourself with your fingers. Want to imagine it's me who's pounding into your tight arse.'

Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry at the image. His hand flew from his prick, pulling him back from the edge. He hesitated for a bit, not knowing how to position himself, then just pulled off his underwear and spread his legs. He heard a mumbled word from Severus and found his own fingers covered in lube. He looked up at Severus to thank him and found his dark eyes staring at him with an intensity that made him shudder with need.

Slowly he ran his middle finger over his perineum, down to his hole, circled the pucker before pushing in. He moaned at the feeling and started to move his finger, then soon added another.

'Merlin, yes, like that.' Severus murmur caressed Harry's skin, made him spread his legs wider. He closed his eyes, imagining that it really was Severus who was fucking him. 'Fuck yourself harder.' He could see Severus bending him over, pushing his hard, leaking cock into Harry's wanton hole, pounding into him hard and fast. He could see Severus spreading Harry's legs, lifting one up on his shoulder, then fucking him with a passion that was too much to find comparison.

'Come for me, Harry.'

Harry opened his eyes, looking straight at Severus' flushed face, at how he stroked his prick hard and fast. He moved his left hand to his own dick, stroked it once, twice, – and came with a long, shuddering moan. And just in the last moments of his orgasm he saw Severus come as well.

'Bloody. Brilliant.' Harry laughed breathlessly and let his head fall back against the sofa.

******

They sent off vouchers for free pies, camouflaged as a publicity stunt by the Pie Hole, the next morning, then went to attend to their usual business of baking pies and reading books. The day was normal, if one overlooked that Olive had called in sick, and Harry was beaming all day, despite having to do twice the usual workload. Severus was enjoying his tea and the occasional piece of cake that came accompanying a freshly brewed pot.

Both Harry and Severus kept sneaking glances at the door whenever a new customer entered, but neither Patricia nor the farmer showed that day.

'I suppose they will come tomorrow,' Harry said shrugging, when he wrapped up the only three left-over pieces from that day. He had already locked the doors and Severus had, under a feeble protest from Harry, spelled the brooms and cleaning cloths to start cleaning the café.

'If they fell for the ruse.' Severus' tone was dark, but then again he was a natural born pessimist.

'Come on, it'll be all right,' Harry said and left the café through the backdoor. He waited until Severus had walked out as well, then locked the door behind him.

'You and your never-ending optimism,' Severus mutter and Harry snorted, opening his mouth to give one or the other retort when something heavy hit the side of his head and knocked him down onto the ground. Harry blinked, trying to make sense out of what had just happened, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. Something hot and wet was running down his scalp, over his temple, down his cheek. He heard voices and scuffling, and blinked, trying to see, but everything was in a blur.

His glasses. Harry raised his hand to his face, finding that his glasses were gone and started to search for them on the ground. He heard Severus cry out, moved his hands faster, and then finally found them and jammed them painfully onto his nose. The world was back in scratchy focus immediately and he saw Severus lying on the concrete, the farmer standing over him, raising a spade off all things. 'Stupefy!' Harry shouted, his wand that he couldn't remember taking out pointing at the farmer. As the man toppled sideways like a felled tree, Harry rushed over to Severus' side, panic filling every single one of his nerve-cells. He couldn't ... no ... Merlin, it wasn't possible ... 'Please...' Harry whimpered and waved his trembling wand over Severus' still body, checking for vital signs. A golden flicker of light made Harry sag down in relief and he thanked Merlin and every possible other entity that Severus was still alive. Hesitating only slightly, Harry pulled the sleeve of his shirt over his hand, holding it in his fist so it formed a glove and slowly stroked it over Severus' skin for the briefest of moments.

It took about half a minute more till Severus' eyelids twitched and he opened his eyes. 'Harry!' he gasped and sat up immediately.

'I'm here,' Harry said, giving him a wan smile. 'I'm okay.'

Severus frowned at Harry – which was followed by an immediate wince. Moving his head – or actually just any muscle – maybe wasn't such a good idea. 'You're bleeding.'

Harry shrugged. 'So are you. Don't heal it,' he added when Severus raised his wand. 'It makes good evidence against that bastard when we call the police. And Cod. We should call him first.'

Severus nodded ever so slowly, then took a little flacon from his pockets. It was strangely unbroken – but presumably Snape had spelled it to be indestructible. 'I will get to work then to get him ready.'

 

******

The rest of the proceedings had been weirdly simple and had rushed by. Harry had called first Cod, then the police and ambulance. They arrived roughly at the same time and Harry had cast a quick _Ennervate_ on the now bound farmer, who had already been dosed with Veritaserum. And while Cod had explained to a bobby what _he_ had found out and how _he_ solved the case, Harry and Severus had been tended to by the ambulance and two other bobbies had taken a very willing confession from the farmer, who strangely had forgotten how he had been knocked out. Then Harry's and Severus' statements had been taken and they had been sent home with the knowledge that someone might call up on them for further questioning regarding the farmer's deeds.

Two hours after they had returned home – Severus had healed both of their wounds immediately and a nicely blue shimmering draught had taken care of the pain – Cod had called to tell them that the reward money was bound to be on its way to his bank account soon and that the police had taken in Patricia for conspiracy to murder. She had apparently been planning on leaving Jacques for a while, and when Jacques had taken up his little project and had tried to take her uncle's property, she had seen a perfect opportunity to get rid of Jacques and help her uncle. She had been the one to give the keys of the house to her uncle and while her uncle had done all the dirty work (with joy, as he had stated), she still bore a big part of guilt in the plot. And it had also been Patricia who had pointed her uncle towards the Pie Hole in order to get rid of the snoops who he had thought knew too much for their own good.

Harry and Severus had gone to their beds shortly after that, both too exhausted by the events of the evening to do more than just kissing. And now it was in the middle of the night and Harry woke up when he heard unfamiliar noises in the flat.

First his eyes flew open and he stared wide-eyed into the darkness of his room, listening closely. There it was again – a faint rustle, the slight movement of something heavy... Harry grabbed his wand and, holding onto it tightly, crept to his door. Slowly and as quietly as possible he pushed it open and blinked against the light in the living room. Severus was standing in the middle of the room, next to the couch and his trunks, which he was shrinking at the moment. He hadn't noticed Harry yet and Harry waited until the last trunk was shrunk before he spoke.

'You're leaving?' he tried, but didn't really manage, to keep the note of betrayal from his voice. Severus whirled around, looking out of sorts.

Clearing his throat, he said: 'Yes. ... I have to ...'

Harry looked away. Suddenly the kitchen chairs seemed very interesting. 'Are you going back to Hogwarts?'

'No. I'm finished there, like I told you.'

'Where then?'

'There's a place that I have to visit.'

It was clear that Severus didn't want to say more on the topic, so Harry kept his questions to himself. He didn't even ask why, didn't shout, just stood there and waited until Severus had packed away his trunks and had put on his cloak.

'I'll come back,' Severus said then.

'Of course.' The cling film was lying on the kitchen table, but neither of them was moving towards it. In the end Severus just sighed and Apparated away. Harry wasn't sure if he had said goodbye or if it had just been the crackle of the magic he had heard. He went back to bed, but sleep eluded him.

******

It had been two weeks since Severus had left and there hadn't been a note or any other sign of life from him. Harry kept on working in the Pie Hole, his old life slowly taking over again, blessedly free from murder investigations. Cod, who still came for his pie at least every second day and now told him about the odd investigation and even hinted that he might want to use Harry's special talents later on, had received the money and had even already given Harry his share. Life was uneventful and maybe – though Harry would never admit it – even a tad boring.

Olive, who was in a better mood than ever, danced through the café and served a piece of strawberry-meringue pie that was the Pie Hole's special this week. She gave Harry a broad smile, but he couldn't let himself be infected by her happiness and enthusiasm and sighed, looking back at the menu he was planning for the next week. It was important to keep variation in the menu. That way customers wouldn't be bored that easily and would come in if only to see what new things he was offering each week. And Harry himself never fell into too boring a routine. Maybe he should take up something that was complicated to bake. Something that would occupy him fully.

The bell at the door rang and Harry looked up, not even denying his hope for a dark-cloaked man to enter. But instead of Severus it was a couple that entered and Harry lowered his head in disappointment just like he did every day. He didn't even know why he was hoping that Severus would come back. He wouldn't. He must've realised how complicated a life with Harry would have been, how they could never share proper intimacies, how the stupid cling film would have to be with them forever. It wouldn't have worked anyway, Harry tried to tell himself. He probably would have gone crazy with the want to touch Severus. It wouldn't have worked.

******

Harry waved Olive goodnight and locked the front door of the café, then closed the blinds, shielding himself from the curious eyes of possible passer-bys. He raised his wand – swish, swish, flick, twitch – and the cleaning tools set themselves to work. It was one of the few things for which he now actually used magic, apart from a few odd things in his flat. Severus might have brought magic back into Harry's life, but he still was living as Muggle, no matter what.

Sighing again, Harry grabbed his jacket, and left the Pie Hole, locking the door, before making his way down the alley. He felt the magic fizzle before it hit him square in the back and threw him onto the ground. Harry gasped in shock, breath leaving him and making him feel light headed for a second. As soon as he came to himself he grabbed his wand, when a hand appeared in front of him, extended to help him up. Still slightly dazed, Harry grabbed it and let himself be pulled onto his feet. It was only then that he noticed that it was Severus, who was standing in front of him.

Harry's heart skipped a beat and he wrenched his hand away in panic, expecting to see the light leave Severus' face, to see him fall, cold and unmoving forever. He didn't dare to breathe as he stared, trembling. But Severus didn't fall. He didn't die. He stood there, looking at Harry, waiting for him to understand.

Harry swallowed. 'What...? How...?' Then it dawned on him. The spell that had hit him. Severus must have done something... 'You...?'

'It took me weeks of research...' Severus said and reached out to touch Harry's cheek. Harry flinched, but didn't move away and Severus was touching Harry. And he still didn't die.

A sob filled with past anguish and present happiness broke free from Harry's throat and he threw himself into Severus' arms, soaking up the warmth, the closeness, the _feeling_. 'I thought I would never...' Harry cried and pressed his face against the folds of Severus' coat. Severus' hands roamed over his back, to Harry's arse and Harry lifted his head up kissing Severus properly for the first time. It was perfect.

'How did you find the spell?' Harry whispered against Severus' lips.

'I read about a way to remove apparently permanent curses years ago and remembered it when you described your predicament.'

'How could you be sure it would work?' He had never thought it could be so comfortable leaning against Severus.

'I wasn't.'

'What?' Harry pushed himself out of Severus' arms. 'And you still tried it? How could you? You could have died!' He moved his fist for a punch, but Severus caught his arm before the fist could connect with his chin.

'I had to,' he simply said, then added: 'It's okay now. We're okay.' And he drew the shuddering Harry close and kissed him again.

'Severus?'

'Hmm?'

'Take us home.'


End file.
